


our little corner of the world

by brownheadedstranger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownheadedstranger/pseuds/brownheadedstranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Louis is stuck in his mom's diner for the summer. Harry is the line cook with a pickup truck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our little corner of the world

**Author's Note:**

> this is very loosely inspired by one of my favorite books growing up, Hope Was Here. 
> 
> to be clear: springwick is a fictional town, and louis' youngest twin siblings don't exist here because babies and i don't know how they would fit into the plot. so no babies here.
> 
> big love to dom and ashley, who read this over, and lemon, who cheered for me the whole way through.

The sun feels like a trap. 

Louis had said as much on his way out the front door this morning, newly showered and already sweating before 6 am. Now at half past noon, the sun sits high in the sky, charging the air until it gets thick and claustrophobic, like being hugged by a wool blanket fresh from the dryer. It beats down on the field across the road and reflects off the other cars in the parking lot, pressing them down into the sticky asphalt. There’s no reprieve wherever he goes, least of all back inside the air-conditioned diner, where customers filter in and out asking for refills of lemonade and complaining about how unseasonably _hot_ it is, even this early in June. 

This, among other reasons, is why he can’t wait for this summer to end. It’s only barely started, technically only been three days since he’s been home, but the idea of being here with nothing to do other than watch the temperature gradually climb over the next three months sounds like a death sentence. The sun never sets here during the summer, it seems. And when it does, it’s only to make room for the weeklong period of thunderstorms that’ll invariably have him caught indoors, stuck in bed until the worst of it passes.

Summer is a long and tired stretch. It’s nothing but humidity and hay fever, and barn parties and county fairs and other means of escaping the tedium of midwestern living. Every weekend seems the perfect excuse for a barbecue or festival, and kids on vacation mean longer lines at the pool and ice cream parlor. It’s routine, and that’s the way things go in small towns like these. 

A car honks on its way out of the lot and Louis waves back absently, regardless of whoever might be driving. Most people know him here, either through the public school or the diner. So they’re likely not surprised to see Mrs. Tomlinson’s hoodlum son skulking out front on his lunch break, reclining on the hood of his station wagon with a basket of fries in his lap. It’s another one of those things.

After wiping off a smear of ketchup from his lip, Louis checks his phone. Zayn’s flight gets in today and with any luck, they’ll be back in his garage tonight with a few joints shared between them.

 _just landed !! see u soon lol_  

At least with Zayn back, things should be less unbearable. Then again, Louis isn’t quite up to date on his situation with Liam the Swimmer. Last he heard, Zayn had put an end to their hooking up over winter break, what with his being a freshman in college and Liam still in high school. But now that they’re in the same place again for an extended period of time, Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Zayn ditched him for better prospects.

That’s something Louis can’t even fathom here. Choices are already pretty slim in a place like Springwick, WI, but the whole boys-only thing basically guarantees a nonexistent love life, Zayn’s situation notwithstanding. Moving to Evanston for college had been an eye opener for him, like he could finally see the world for what it really was. There wasn’t the shadow of a small town’s expectation hovering over him, every movement measured and premeditated as they had been for so much of his life. 

He pockets his phone, figuring Zayn’s going through baggage claim or something. After a school year away, they’ve ended up back in this blip on a state map where nobody other than the people living here would know it existed. He’s Louis Tomlinson again, the boy who dated the Walker girl several years back; Louis Tomlinson, the boy whose cat ran away because it couldn’t handle the stress of living with his four kid sisters. He laughs to himself for no real reason, sitting up and pulling at the spots where his T-shirt has started sticking to his back. 

“Aren’t you hot?” 

Louis doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He’s had a long day already having to deal with the breakfast rush, and he’s still got most of the afternoon ahead of him. By rights, he has five minutes left on his lunch break. That’s five minutes to close his eyes, listen to the wind chimes that have dangled above the diner’s front door since before the twins were born, and contemplate new ways of tossing them in the dumpster without his mom noticing. He turns to the side anyway, his hand held out in front of his eyes to block the glare. And, this being the middle-of-nowhere hole he calls his hometown, he isn’t surprised to find himself face to face with somebody he recognizes. 

He pushes his hair out of his face and frowns when he catches a bit of sweat against his palm. “Excuse me?” 

Harry, or Gemma Styles’ younger brother as Louis knew him throughout most of high school, stares up at him. He’s taller than Louis remembered, leaner too, and not the dopey and undergrown sophomore he’d been when they went to the same school. But he’s also smiling now, the same smile Louis would occasionally see in the hallways, and maybe they never spent a lot of time together, but the familiarity is settling. 

“I mean - I’m just saying it’s hot out.” Harry shrugs before grinning fully, toothy and awkward more than self-assured. Louis raises an eyebrow and Harry sighs, though it sounds more like a chuckle. “Basically, why would you - like, sunbathe, when you could be sitting in air conditioning instead?”

Louis glances over at the diner then back to Harry, who’s watching him expectantly. “Did my mom put you up to this?” 

“What - no,” Harry says, smile faltering slightly. “I’m genuinely asking.” 

“Oh.” He tilts his head to the side. This is the most they’ve spoken since Harry showed up at the diner late last summer for dinner with his mom and sister, and it had only been to ask what kind of pie they wanted. It had been a slow night, less than a week before packing up the car to leave Wisconsin, and Louis doesn’t know why he remembers that, but he does.

“Is that okay?” Harry asks, his voice cutting through Louis’ thoughts. Though if the dimples winking back at him are anything to go by, he’s not really all that concerned. 

Louis holds out the basket he’d been balancing precariously for the last twenty-five minutes. “French fry?” 

Harry picks a fry easily and goes to eat it, his tongue inexplicably swiping out first before catching it in his mouth. When he sees Louis watching curiously, he scrunches his eyebrows into a funny expression, one that has Louis wanting to poke him in the forehead. He doesn’t, though. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, moving in again to steal a handful this time. “Although, if I’m being honest with you, I’d probably rather have a piece of fruit.” 

Louis groans, pulling away and shimmying up the hood of the car to no avail. He levels Harry with the most unimpressed look he can muster at the moment. More than five minutes have already passed, but it’s nothing more than a fleeting thought in the back of his mind right now. “You’re one of those health nuts, aren’t you? Like, you’re here to make me feel guilty for having fries for lunch. Next you’re gonna try and get me to wear sunscreen every time before going out.” 

“Well, you _should_ wear sunscreen whenever you go out,” Harry says from behind a mouthful of french fry. “And I’m not a nut, I don’t think. I’m just saying, wouldn’t you like a piece of melon in this weather? Doesn’t that sound good?” 

“This is a weird conversation,” Louis mutters, hopping off the car suddenly and getting Harry to step backward a bit. He wipes his one hand on his jeans, making a mental note to do his laundry tonight. Or, better yet, he’ll throw his dirty clothes in the laundry room with hopes they’ll all turn up clean in the morning. If he’s home, he’s damn well going to take advantage of the perks. “Are you going inside?” 

Harry makes a muted noise and, in the short moment that follows, Louis realizes he’s shorter than Harry now. It’s not by much, not yet, but it’s enough of a change to distract Louis briefly until Harry’s talking again. 

“No, I’m actually about to leave.” There’s a pointedness to the way Harry’s looking at him, like he’s just heard a joke that no one else did. Louis has a sneaking suspicion that Harry plays an untold number of conversations in his head, all for himself. “I’m just over there,” he says, gesturing over at a green pickup truck parked near the edge of the lot. 

“You’re not staying for lunch?” Louis asks, shifting his stance automatically to make himself appear taller. The sun is beaming down hard on them, and he’s vaguely aware of how Harry has to wipe at his upper lip with the back of his giant hand. “You’ll offend Jay.”

Harry laughs out loud this time, a sharp sound that seems to echo in the silence of the parking lot around them. “I work here, Louis. Or did you not notice me this morning?” He shoves stray curls away from his face and Louis pays special attention to the bits behind his ears that spring back to attention.  

But then Harry’s words sink in. “Wait, what? You work here?” 

Harry nods. “I’m the line cook. Not that you’d have to know, since you don’t have to be in the kitchen.” 

“It’s probably better that I’m not,” Louis agrees before shaking his head. “Wait, oh my god, I’m such an asshole. How long have you worked here?” 

“A couple months now, just weekends and a few hours each day whenever I didn’t have school,” Harry says in a modest little tone that seems to be hiding more than he’s letting on. Louis remembers his mom calling a while back, mentioning how the diner had been running smoother than it had been in a long time. He has a feeling Harry is a part of that. “I’m working more now that it’s summer, of course, but I’ll probably have to stop once school starts…” He runs his hand across his face, looking almost bashful after letting it drop to his side. “Sorry. You don’t care.” 

It’s instinct when Louis kicks out at Harry’s shoe, out of some sudden need to offer comfort. “No, it’s fine. Senior year, I mean - it’s a big deal. All the nostalgia and stress from applying to colleges, I still remember.” 

Harry smiles over at him, a cautious thing. “Right. Thanks.”

Louis hums and turns his attention back to the diner, where a family is making its way down the front steps, chatting and laughing as they go along. A good meal, his mom always said, opens people up to conversation afterward. “I should - um. My mom is gonna fillet me if I stay out any longer, so I should get back.” 

“Oh, yeah definitely. Didn’t mean to keep you. Just saw you out here and thought I’d say hi before leaving.” Harry clears his throat and backs away a little more, this time in the direction of his truck. “You go back to school, like, in September, right? So you’ll be here all summer?” 

Louis blinks. “Yeah. I’ll be here.” 

Harry lets out a laugh as he slowly moves backward, and Louis thinks it sounds a bit relieved. “Cool. Can’t wait.” 

Without anything better to say, Louis makes to walk away. “See you, Harry.” 

“See you, Louis!” Harry calls across the gap between them, and it isn’t until Louis is back inside and watching sneakily from one of the windows that he climbs into his pickup truck and drives away.

\---

He gets home just after eight that night, weariness heavy on his bones and the smell of bacon grease stuck in his hair and on his clothes. It hadn’t been too busy once he resumed his shift, but dinnertime had been packed as expected, what with everyone coming round with their families after work for a good helping of meatloaf or country fried steak on a Friday night. He almost tripped once, nearly killed another waitress with a tray of waters another time, but ultimately left for the night with a wallet full of tips. And since the whole point to working at the diner over the summer is to save up money, he doesn’t have much to complain about.

He even managed to bring his mom home with him, finally prying her away from the diner long enough to let her night staff do their job. She definitely overworks herself to death when he’s away at school, but probably not as much as she used to when he was a kid and ‘playtime’ meant sitting at the counter and refilling napkin dispensers. It’s still all consuming but not as much of a full-time job, thanks to some concerned regulars who convinced her she couldn’t work herself to death, not with four kids left to put through college. 

Louis peels off his clothes, listening as Matt Berninger’s voice filters from the tinny speakers on his desk. He walks around naked for a while, unpacking remaining clothes into his dresser and enjoying the first real bit of privacy he’s been afforded in - well, _forever_ really. In Evanston, he’d had Stan, his roommate, who was a great friend to have but also never left the room, usually stayed at his desk skyping his girlfriend across the country or whatever. And before that, he had his room at home, but nothing was ever really private when his sisters were involved. 

So moving into the apartment above the garage had been his idea. It’s not so much an apartment as a renovated bedroom and ensuite that used to be his dad’s office before he fucked off to Florida or wherever the hell he is now. Mom happened to support the idea, and willingly indulged his desire for some semblance of independence. And the girls can’t come up here without asking him first, so it’s a pretty nice setup. 

His phone buzzes from where it’s sitting on his bed. Granted, he couldn’t convince his mom to move his actual bed up here, so he’s stuck with an old mattress set on top of a box spring in the corner of the room. It’s decent enough, and if he were staying here for longer than the summer, he might have put some effort into it. Lottie suggested fairy lights, but he’d resisted on the basis it would look too much like a Lumineers music video.

The text is from Zayn, who, Louis isn’t the least bit surprised to find out, apparently won’t be coming over tonight after all. 

 _sry liam wants to meet up. don’t be mad??_  

Louis snorts and throws the phone back onto his pillow. He opens up a window to let some air in - it’s cooler now that it’s nighttime - before heading into the bathroom. As the water runs, he thinks about how he’s not mad. Zayn should know that, and probably only sent that text to be a dick, but Louis can’t help thinking about it anyway for long enough that the mirror has already fogged up before he’s even had a chance to step in the shower. 

It’s possible that Liam could be very good for Zayn. He must be, otherwise Zayn wouldn’t have spent the last nine some-odd months in _California_ , of all places, only to return to a corn-fed boy in Wisconsin. Zayn’s only qualm had been the high school thing, which Louis never really understood, but now that Liam’s graduated and off to USC in the fall, it looks a lot more like a why the hell not situation. 

They even hung out a bit before, Louis and Liam. He didn’t come around the diner as much as everyone else at their school seemed to, but they’d have lunch together in the cafeteria sometimes, especially once he and Zayn fell into each other’s orbit. Sometimes Harry would be there, too, if only because he and Liam were friends by way of the swim team. 

Louis lathers some shampoo into his hair and he can practically feel his day washing off him. That’s really the only other place he’d ever seen Harry, at swim meets. He and Zayn would show up now and then, mostly for the promise of shirtless boys, and Harry would nod at him from across the room and he’d nod back the way that friends of friends normally did. 

He remembers sitting with Gemma at one of the meets, and she’d spent so long talking about Harry’s unfortunate encounter with a bottle of Nair for streamlining purposes. They laughed about it like they always did when talking about each other’s younger siblings, but it’s hard to think of Harry that way now. 

When he’s out of the shower and mostly toweled off, he goes to check on his phone, where he has two messages waiting for him. He sends a text to Zayn first - _that’s fine, go get some ;)_ \- before opening the others. 

The first is from his mom, beckoning him into the living room for their weekly family movie night. The second is from Lottie, who’s likely squished between Daisy and Phoebe in her usual spot on the couch. 

 _get down here now fucker_  

He guesses things have changed in his absence, mostly in the form of a sister comfortable enough to curse him out. But other traditions, much like the movie night he’d honestly forgotten about, apparently haven’t. 

With the risk of angering all the important woman in his life hanging over his head, Louis hurriedly throws on an old gym shirt and soft sweatpants. Movie night it is, then. 

\--- 

“I can’t sauté mushrooms if I can’t find them, can I?” 

Louis’ mom is like a moving storm in the kitchen, throwing open refrigerator doors and checking under empty bowls and pans while the rest of her omelet ingredients sizzle on top of the burner. Harry is standing dutifully at the griddle, making pancakes and flipping them effortlessly as ten different orders come flying in at once. 

“They’re over there, Mrs. T.” Harry points to a random corner without looking up, and she hurtles over in that direction without another word. Louis would compliment him for his impressive poise, but then he remembers he’s waiting on two southwestern scrambles and a steak and eggs special and he just dings the bell at the galley window instead.

“Coming, coming. Don’t worry,” Harry says, looking up briefly to throw Louis a smile. 

Blue Flag Diner is a staple in Springwick. Whether it’s out of necessity or an appreciation for genuinely good food, Louis doesn’t know, though he’s got a pretty good idea. But the fact remains that a popular diner means busy mornings. Not that a giant crowd is a bad thing, because it’s always been said that the best time to see a diner is just around sunrise. If the place isn’t busting by then, his mom said, the word hasn’t gotten out yet. 

And Blue Flag is always bustling. 

Louis, on the other hand, is still trailing behind. He’d had a rough start to his morning since his alarm didn’t go off and moving to the garage means not getting the courtesy wake up call from his mom anymore. Then after a quick shower, he saw Harry while driving over, coming up on one of the back roads out on what must have been a morning jog. Louis would have rolled down the window to say hello, but it would’ve also meant a later start to an already-late morning. Not to mention also speaking to a shirtless Harry, because running half-naked was apparently a thing he did before going to work. 

They hadn’t even exchanged words and the whole thing managed to leave Louis in a mess of conflicting emotions. Obviously Harry had grown up, he’d noticed that much from their talk the other day. But seeing exactly what that meant was something else entirely, and Louis would have dwelled on it a little longer if only it didn’t mean crashing his car into a ditch. 

The orders come up and Louis takes them to the party sitting at one of his tables in the back. They’re truckers, big and beefy men engaged in a conversation comprised of nothing more than grunts and the occasional stomp of a boot. That means they don’t know him the way the locals do, so it’s unlikely they’ll tip him more than the bare minimum, not the way they would’ve if it had been Perrie or Jade waiting on them instead. But Louis considers himself somewhat charming, or personable and decently funny at the very least, and by the time he drops their food off, he’s earned a laugh and a guaranteed extra dollar on his tip. He’s learned a thing or two from growing up here. 

After doing the rounds in his section and topping up coffee mugs as he goes, he hovers by his usual spot at the counter, where Lou is already counting up her most recent earnings and hiding them away in her apron. She looks somewhat off-center, thin in the face and pretty much everywhere else except for her swollen belly. She has four months left to go, and Louis is only sad that he won’t get to meet the baby before heading back to school. 

“How is it that I came in an hour earlier than you and you’re still getting more tips than me?” Louis sidles up next to her for a gentle hip check, careful of her bump. “You’re playing dirty, Louise.” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, _Louis_ ,” she says, flipping through her order pad and leaving behind little notes with her pen, “but I’m just a poor mama-to-be trying to make a living.” 

“More of that pregnancy pity, huh?” 

She smirks, brushing aside a strand of ashy purple hair hanging over her cheek. “I’m getting married in September, Baby T.” Louis groans at the nickname, the same one she’s used for as long as he’s known her. “Now your mama’s letting me have the reception here, but I’ve still got a church and a dress to pay for. So back off and leave me and my pregnancy pity alone.” 

Louis narrows his eyes. “I still think you’re cheating.” 

“It’s a crazy world, honey. Get pregnant first, then we’ll talk.” 

He’s about to puff out his chest and respond with something undoubtedly witty and brilliant when he hears a soft cough coming from behind them. “Hey, Lou?” 

They turn around at the same time, one of the pitfalls of working closely with someone similarly named. Harry is standing there, looking a cross between surprised and apologetic like he knows he’s just interrupted and he hates himself for it. He seems unreasonably awake and alert around the eyes, more so than anyone else working right now, which is kind of amazing given the fact that it’s barely 7. If Louis hadn’t seen him earlier with his own eyes, there would be no way of telling he’d just come back from a run. 

“Sorry,” he says, sounding very much like he means it. “I meant - um.” He points to Louis’ left. “I meant girl Lou. Sorry.” 

“If I had a nickel,” Louis mutters. 

Harry chuckles ruefully and Lou just looks between them like she’s discovered something interesting. “What is it, Harry?” she asks. 

“I’ve got your smoothie ready.” Harry gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “You should probably drink it while it’s cold.” 

“Thanks, H.” She makes to leave but stops, sticking her pen out at each of them. “So. You two have met.” It isn’t a question. 

Louis switches his balance from one foot to the other, his eyes caught somewhere near the checkered linoleum. “We went to the same school and live in the same town, so yeah.” 

“Uh huh.” It’s the sound she makes when she’s not particularly impressed with one of Louis’ answers, which happens to be most of the time. She glances over at Harry, who’s watching the entire conversation unfold with wide eyes. “I’m only pointing it out because Harry kept asking about you yesterday. Or why you weren’t working, specifically.” 

“What - ” Harry’s big mouth flops open and close in a remarkable impression of a fish, but Lou cuts him off with a short nod and a honey sweet smile. “I’ll be in the back. Holler if someone needs toast or something,” she says before disappearing. 

Louis pulls out a napkin from his back pocket and wipes the counter down, just for something to do with his hands while Harry stands there awkwardly, like a tall beanpole hovering over the ketchup bottles. He rounds over to the side, settling down on one of the stools and folding his hands over the countertop. Harry stares back at him, unsure. 

“So,” Louis starts slowly, not really sure where he’s going. “Smoothie? Lou’s got you doing special favors now, too?” 

That seems enough to break whatever tension seemed to hang in the air. Harry slips his hands into his pockets, his wiggling fingers caught against the fabric on his thighs. Today he’s wearing a band tee with a beanie thrown haphazardly over his head. His hair doesn’t look like it’s dried completely from his shower. “Yeah. It’s a spinach and orange smoothie?” 

“What? No.” 

“Really,” Harry assures him, sounding less flustered than he was moments ago. He shuffles closer so his waist is pressed right opposite where Louis is sitting. “It’s a good source of folic acid, which is, like, good for the baby and everything. The orange juice makes it so it doesn’t taste too disgusting, and the coconut milk adds creaminess.” 

“Oh my god,” Louis says, half laughing as he bends over to lean his head on the laminate surfacing. “I forget that you’re one of those.” When he looks up, Harry has this deep line between his eyebrows. “Like…” he adds for clarification, “you’re the kind of person who’s going to make me eat _vegetables_ for breakfast.” 

A slow smile creeps across Harry’s face until he’s grinning properly. “I’ve been trying to convince your mom to add tofu scrambles to the menu for months now.”

“Of course you have.” Louis slaps a hand on his face, secondhand embarrassment running through him. “Of fucking course you have.” He peeks at Harry through his fingers. “Tell me there was spinach involved, too. Please tell me.” 

If Harry minds that Louis is openly making fun at him, he doesn’t show it. If anything, he seems delighted by the attention, which only encourages Louis. “And some vegan cheese, too. Gotta do it right if you’re gonna do it at all.”

“Yeah, because bumfuck Wisconsin is definitely the place to do tofu scrambles.” Louis laughs again, helpless to it. “And vegan cheese? Man, you live in the literal state of cheese. Real, honest to god cheese. No way you’re getting off with that nonsense.”

Harry shrugs easily. His cheeks are a little rosy, but Louis isn’t paying that much attention. “Hey,” he says. “This place could surprise you.” 

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but finds himself at a loss for anything to say. Harry’s still smiling, softer now though, and oddly intimate given the situation they’re in. They’re in the thick of the morning rush and yet, by some divine intervention, the breakfast crowd has seen it fit to wait until later with their coffee refills and menu questions to temporarily absolve Louis of his responsibilities and grant him a few seconds of peace to enjoy what some might actually call _flirting_. He can’t be sure, being a biased party and all, but it feels a lot like flirting, and it’s a funny thing to acknowledge and accept here, of all places. There’s no one watching them, so Louis takes one for the team and lets the moment wash over him. 

The moment breaks, however, when a sudden yawn rips its way through Louis, leaving him suddenly bone tired as Harry looks on, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Wow,” Louis says, smacking his lips out of habit. “I need coffee.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather have some green tea instead?” But Harry’s already reaching under the counter for a mug. “That’s better for your thyroid.”

Louis stares wordlessly.

“Yeah, alright.” Harry fills the mug with the coffee pot behind him - the caffeinated one, good man - and slides it across the counter over to Louis. “Would you like half and half?” 

“This could work out well for us,” Louis says, accepting a bowl of creamer from Harry and reaching for the sugar dispenser. “As long as you keep me in constant supply of coffee, I don’t see any reason why we can’t stay friends, Styles.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to keep me around.” 

“For now.” 

Harry shakes his head, smiling again. “Hey, so, do you know what we’re doing tonight?” 

“Tonight?” Louis catches some coffee on his lips with his tongue, pointedly ignoring the way Harry seems to be watching him as he does it. “What do you mean?” 

“Liam and Zayn?” Harry clears his throat. “The - um. They’re hanging out and I think you and I are supposed to be there as well?” 

Louis frowns. “I thought only I was hanging out with Zayn tonight.” 

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the p. “We’ll be there, too.” 

“Great. So like a double date.” 

“No, not a double date.”

Louis sets his mug down. “Then we’re chaperoning.” 

“Whatever you say.” Harry raps his knuckles against the surface. “I’ve gotta get back and make hash browns. Back to work, Tomlinson.” He pushes his beanie back into an acceptable position before turning around to resume his station. His back muscles flex visibly through his thin black shirt as he pushes the kitchen door open, and it takes a second to register that Louis is very much checking Harry out. But then a glass breaks, a baby starts crying, and just like that, the illusion shatters. 

\--- 

Getting out of the night’s plans is impossible, especially once Zayn realizes he doesn’t have to break the news to Louis himself anymore. Instead, he gets about a hundred threatening emojis in response to his _yeah, nice try_ text, all angry faces and several skulls, plus a friendly reminder of the time sophomore year when Zayn defused his mother’s meltdown by covering for Louis after he’d snuck out to hook up with Aiden down the block. 

Zayn rarely resorts to blackmail to get what he wants, so really, Louis has no choice. 

When they get out of their movie later that night, Louis looks around at the hodgepodge of mismatched brick buildings in the town square, confused. Sure, he hasn’t hung out with people from home in a long time, and it’s a weeknight so it’s not like people are staying out late, but it’s also summer and he figured more kids their age would be hanging around. The way it’s looking right now, however, they’ve got the square all to themselves. 

“I’m not a big fan of the explosions and stuff,” Zayn says as he’s stretching out his back. “But that was pretty nice.” 

Louis pushes down the temptation to snort at Zayn’s expense, and settles instead for a, “Nice? Did you just call a Bruce Willis movie nice?”

Before Zayn can bite back, Liam says, “I liked it, too.” Zayn blinks over at him like he’s never heard another human speak before, and Louis finds himself inching closer to Harry, who’s standing silently again with his hands in his pockets. He elbows Louis once he’s near enough, though, and it’s lucky no one else is paying attention. “No really,” Liam adds, like anyone had been doubting him. 

“That’s awesome,” Zayn breathes, and maybe it’s only because Louis is so accustomed to his friend’s usual disinterest that he laughs. But it passes when Zayn unceremoniously stomps on his foot. 

“What the - fucker!” 

Zayn shoots him a glare. “We want ice cream. Do you want to come, or is that more than you can handle?” 

Louis is about to say that yes, he would love some ice cream thank you very much, when a hand wraps around his bicep and pulls him away. “You guys go ahead,” Harry says, nodding in Louis’ periphery. “We’ll be out here, so come get us when you’re done.”

Liam looks blessedly relieved, while Zayn only stares between Louis and Harry with poorly hidden confusion. But then Liam taps him on the shoulder and points in the direction of the ice cream parlor across the street. It’s miraculously empty from what Louis can see, and if it hadn’t been for Harry’s sudden desire to play matchmaker, he could be capitalizing on this once in a lifetime opportunity. Alas, the choice has been made.

The two of them cross the street with a measured gap between them, but Louis doesn’t miss the way their elbows bump together once or twice. He’d find it repulsive if he didn’t find it kind of adorable. Throughout the casual phase of their relationship, Zayn had been the picture of unaffected and aloof. But now that they’ve tried to make this real, he’s the stupidest that Louis has ever seen him. The whole thing is rather refreshing. 

“It’s like watching two ducks learn to swim.” 

Harry hums. “I don’t think that’s the right metaphor.” 

Louis clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. “I wanted ice cream, you know. Or is this another one of your ploys to improve my gallbladder or something?” 

“I’m more concerned for other parts of your being, honestly.” Harry looks over at him before dissolving into soft giggles. Louis tries to appear impassive, but he knows he’s failing. Harry is in a loose flannel shirt, one that has his collarbones catching the glow of the marquee just right, and it’s more than enough to distract him from a horrible line. “The truth is,” Harry goes on, “I wanted to run something by you first.” 

“If you think the way to persuade my mom about your tofu takeover is through me, then - ” But then Harry clamps a hand over Louis’ mouth, which shuts him up immediately. Things have escalated considerably. 

“Be quiet,” Harry laughs, dropping his hand and making a show of wiping it on his thigh, even though Louis had categorically swallowed down on his instinct to lick. “Do you know Niall Horan?” 

Louis knows Niall. He’s seen Niall naked before, though that had been a locker room mishap more than anything else. The point is, yes, he’s familiar with the guy who’s been in the high school’s mascot costume three years running now. 

“Yes.” 

“Awesome. Well, his family owns some land - ”

“The property off Seymour Road?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Anyway, he’s a good friend of mine, and he texted me before the movie about some party at his barn tonight.” 

Louis scoffs. “Horan has a barn. I’m not surprised.” 

Harry shushes him. “D’you think the other two would wanna go? I should make an appearance, being the best friend and all, but it’d be great if you guys came, too.” When Louis doesn’t respond immediately, Harry offers a weak smile. “Free alcohol?” 

“What do you know about alcohol?” Louis asks, half-stern, half-curious. “You’re an infant.” 

“Not an infant,” Harry dismisses easily. “And I’ve been to parties once or twice. What do you say?”

The images doesn’t register immediately in Louis’ brain, and any and all notions of Harry Styles - the kid who brought an injured frog back from the pond for treatment in his biology classroom - at a party are lost on him. Louis knows parties. Louis has been to parties. And maybe the Harry Styles he’d been familiar with for most of his adolescent life doesn’t make sense in that kind of setting. But this tall, earnest-looking boy, whose eyes have followed Louis for most the evening, does. Hell, he’s seen parties _thrown_ for kids like him. The fact that he’s still in high school almost sails over Louis’ head, until Harry makes a low pleading noise in the back of his throat. 

“Did you just whine?” 

Harry pouts. “Party.” 

“I need real sentences, Styles.”

“Barn.” Harry smirks knowingly. 

“Good lord,” Louis laughs, unable to control himself. “You’re a nuisance.” 

“I’ll just call Niall and let him know we’re on our way,” Harry says, stepping away with his phone already in hand. Louis would go to stop him, but he knows a lost cause when he sees one. 

\--- 

The Horans live almost right on the edge of town, past the big dairy responsible for most of Springwick’s cheese and economy, and the first of many signs reaching out onto the highway that say, _Blue Flag. This Way to the Best Diner in America._ Louis always shrinks away whenever he sees them, but not out of shame as some might assume. It’s surreal to him that something so intimate and fundamental about his life - his mom and his family’s hard work to keep the place running - is out there and advertised, an exhibit for everyone to see. 

No one else really ever pays attention to the signs, though; everyone living within a 50 mile radius knows the truth in their hearts, anyway. It’s mostly for tourists, the rare caravan of them that’ll show up this far upstate. 

They lose Zayn and Liam almost immediately once they get to the party. The Horans’ barn isn’t like one of those big red ones in movies, though it is rather impressively sized. It’s a great old wooden thing, knotted and weathered with faded paint here and there. People have gathered inside already, where lights are strung up and the music carries out of the clearing and over the trees clustered behind. And hanging to the right of the door is an unmissable Irish flag, proudly on display. 

“Niall killed it again,” Harry whispers, sounding awed. 

There’s a nice turnout, bigger than any Louis has ever seen during all his years at the high school, though he’d never admit as much out loud. But Niall’s just that kind of person, the kind to draw from every crowd. Most of them Louis recognizes as Niall and Harry’s year, juniors in the summer before their senior year, though he catches a fair amount of recent graduates like Liam. He even sees a couple of faces from the class photo on his bedroom wall back at home, mainly Jesy and Leigh-Anne as they walk into the barn. More than half of the school’s athletes seem to be in attendance, as well as some of the older cheerleaders in Lottie’s squad.

He makes a mental note to have a conversation with her later about parties like these in her future. It’s best to get a head start on his preventative measures. 

“Aren’t you gonna find your friend?” Louis asks, sidestepping a couple stumbling on their way to the barn. “Make your appearance or whatever?” 

“Nah. He sounded pretty blitzed earlier on the phone, so he wouldn’t know the difference.” 

“Good thing we came, then.” 

“I know, right?” Harry grins. “Wanna get a drink?” 

Harry leads him off anyway, walking several paces ahead without turning around like he just expects Louis to follow along. He does, though, winding through a new pack of arrivals and past where a group of people have congregated with lawn chairs around a pretty pathetic looking bonfire. Zayn and Liam have yet to turn up, and the thought of searching for them in the barn where Horan is likely goading everyone else into his customary round of ‘N Sync karaoke sounds thoroughly unappealing to Louis. 

They get just to the side of the barn door, where three tables designated for drinks are waiting and, inexplicably, have tablecloths draped over them. Louis laughs, wondering perhaps if Mrs. Horan had a hand in this and forced her son into decorating a bit beforehand. 

“What would you like?” Harry asks, holding up two solo cups. “The keg’s inside though, probably, so if you want that…” He trails off, watching Louis expectantly. 

Louis still has the memory of his last night at Northwestern engraved in his mind. He’d finished packing early in the week, a personal first for him, and so he and his floor had gone on one last mission to get completely obliterated before ordering greasy sliders at 2 in the morning. He’d thrown up in a pair of his shoes when he woke up, and drove back home with the worst hangover known to man - a memory he’d rather not relive any time soon. 

That, and the fact that he’s their driver for the evening, so it’s a safer bet to stay away from such temptation. 

“Just ginger ale, thanks.” 

Harry has the good grace to refrain from commenting on Louis’ odd choice. He pours them a cup each, handing one over to Louis and letting their fingers not so discretely brush. Louis tries his hardest not to roll his eyes. 

“You’re not drinking then, either?” Louis asks, nodding over at the cup in Harry’s hand. 

Harry lifts a shoulder before letting it sag. “I don’t drink much, so.” 

“Right.” 

In lieu of dismantling Harry’s blatant lie - Louis was 17 once, too, he remembers - he backs away instead, making room for three girls desperate to get their hands on some Malibu. Harry comes along easily, matching Louis step for step as they head over to a quieter area, away from where the party seems to be spilling out of the barn evenly onto the grass. He doesn’t want Harry to give up a chance at having some fun, but at the same time, he’s the only other person Louis knows here, and he’s not sold on the idea of passing up his best opportunity for company while waiting for Zayn and Liam to emerge from wherever they’ve been. 

From the barn, Miley Cyrus starts to play, followed by drunken whooping and cat calling. Louis groans at that, huffing a little laugh at the ground. 

“Aw, Tomlinson’s too cool for high school parties?” Harry scuffs his toe along Louis’ Converse, and Louis kicks him away. 

“I’m too cool for a lot of things,” he challenges, meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“I happen to believe that.” 

Louis has nothing to say in return, so he chooses to sip from his ginger ale and let the carbonation fizzle up in his mouth before swallowing, the same way he used to drink pop when he was a kid. He’s looking off to the side and paying attention to the way the moonlight hits the trees, the ones that were dead and frosted with snow the last time he was home. He tries to think of other things, like how many months it’s been exactly since he last saw snowfall or how the stars seem to shine brighter here than anywhere else he’s been - anything to distract from Harry _looking_ at him. 

He realizes now how far he’s led them from the party, judging by the sound of drunken teenagers muted in the background. There’s a breeze blowing, too, one that ruffles the grass around his feet and leaves him fighting against shivers threatening to wrack his body. But the weight of Harry’s stare does the trick, sending prickles down the length of his spine anyway and making it impossible to will his attention anywhere else. 

“But you’re no better,” Louis says finally and Harry startles. “You’re standing here with me when you could be over there.” He tips his cup in the direction of the others. “What, Miley isn’t your usual brand of Pitchfork-approved noise?” 

Harry’s face falls into a scowl. “Hey.” 

Something like glee swells in Louis’ chest. “Ah. It would appear I’ve hit a nerve.” 

“No you haven’t,” Harry says stubbornly, but Louis catches the corner of his mouth twitching. “Besides, what do _you_ listen to anyway? Like, trap?” 

“What, no, I don’t know what that is. Hey.” Louis points his finger at him. “We’re here to talk about you.” 

Harry smiles at last, caught. “I dunno. I like what’s going on here better.” And before Louis can blush at that, he goes on, “And I mean. This isn’t something I normally do, you know? I only come to these because of Niall. Otherwise, I’d rather kick back with friends and play guitar or, like, read a book.” 

Louis blinks. 

Harry rubs the back of his neck, cheeks coloring noticeably even in the dark. “I know that sounds really stupid - ” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Louis interrupts, involuntarily pulling on Harry’s arm so it falls back to his side. “I don’t know that other people would say the same thing, ‘s all.” 

“Because there’s nothing to do in puny Springwick,” Harry laughs, startling one out of Louis, too. “But sometimes I’ll drive to the town over and watch a movie or go to the record store or something. There’s more to do there, so it’s nice, I guess, knowing I can get out if I want.”

Louis nods, swishing his cup from side to side and letting the leftover liquid slosh around. It occurs to him, a beat later, that the strangeness of this conversation comes from the fact that he can only talk about life outside of Springwick with Zayn - and that’s because they made it out together. Otherwise, it’s a useless effort trying to convince anyone else of any _thing_ else beyond town limits. 

It’s stranger, still, to hear half of this conversation from Harry, someone who Louis associates so explicitly with this place. Until working together at Blue Flag, Louis could have gone his whole life thinking he had nothing shared with Harry Styles than this dead end town. And the very thought of it sits uncomfortably in Louis’ gut, makes him inexplicably sad. 

“So, um.” Louis clears his throat and licks his lips. “You’re probably going to get really tired of hearing this, but what colleges have you been looking into?” 

“None. Don’t think I’m going to, either,” Harry says, drinking from his ginger ale. 

Louis frowns. “Why not?”

“Because.” Harry pauses to collect his thoughts, thumb swiping at the rim of his cup. “Gemma just got home, too, and she loves school. But she’s smart and she’s also taking classes at the community college over the summer. And I’ve never been like that. Plus, I help my mom out around the house, which is why I work at Blue Flag and everything...I have my things to do,” he says, nodding decisively. 

“Okay,” Louis hears himself saying, but that’s not what he’s thinking. He’s picturing Harry in a coffeehouse, or a used bookstore, or one of those tiny novelty shops selling one of a kind memorabilia and posters - places that don’t exist in the town square. And even if the fantasy only stretches into the town over, it’s better than being _here_.

“I can help you if you want,” he continues before he can stop himself. When Harry looks at him curiously, Louis scratches at his chest absentmindedly. “Like, no pressure or anything, because I don’t wanna force you into something you don’t want to do. But it never hurts to know your options. And if you hate it or hate every school I suggest, there won’t be any hard feelings. If anything, it’ll be practice for when I have to help my sisters go through it.” 

He mentally prepares himself for the fallout, for being told off after overstepping his boundaries. But then Harry shrugs easily, as if Louis had suggested going for milkshakes after class. 

“Sure. It couldn’t hurt.”

Louis breathes out through his nose and offers an encouraging smile. “Awesome. I promise it won’t be miserable.”

Harry gives a goofy smile of his own. “I never said it would be.” 

They’ve moved closer together in the span of the last several minutes, which Louis only discovers when he goes to clink their cups together. “You’re good people, Styles.” He lets Harry preen with the compliment before punching him lightly on the bicep, which has him running back toward the barn once Harry decides to retaliate. As far as parties go, it’s not so bad. 

\---

The heat doesn’t abate as the days move into late June, leaving Louis awake in the middle of the night, sweaty with the sheets pooled around his waist even with the crappy air conditioning on full blast in the tiny apartment. But such is life in Wisconsin during the summertime, when the people wilt and flourish together and the weather is a constant talking point from breakfast until dinner.

If there’s a benefit to the passage of time, however, it’s finally settling into a workable routine. Without classes or extracurriculars to keep Louis’ mind focused on the days of the week, it would otherwise be too easy to lose track of himself and float into a summer limbo. But getting up before dawn every other day for work whips him easily into a cycle, and makes him all the more appreciative of his days off when he can sleep in. Those days, he’ll make a late breakfast for the girls, most of whom are already awake and gathered at the tv by the time he gets to the main house. He’ll sit with them for a while afterward, or catch up on some reading on the porch outside. That is, if he doesn’t have to make a quick trip to the diner anyway, whether to drop something off for his mom or pick up some food once the fridge at home has gone empty. 

So it’s no surprise that he sees Harry way more than anyone else outside of his family. With Zayn’s time seemingly and exclusively accounted for by Liam, Louis spends a considerable amount of his waking hours with somebody he hardly even knew over winter break. A high school student, no less, though that’s mostly a teasing point that comes up after Lou’s just spent half her lunch break making fun of the way they seem to “get along like peas and carrots.” 

His mom starts noticing, too, though that’s likely a consequence of Zayn’s absence more than anything else. But she’s more subtle about the way she approaches Louis’ personal life, which usually means knowing eyes and clandestine hipchecks after Harry so much as leaves a room. In response, he’ll stare back blankly, an unspoken _we’re not talking about this, not now, perhaps not ever_ , and she’ll carry about her business. 

There’s nothing to talk about as it is. It’s just been years since Louis has made a new friend here, much less under the scrutiny of people whose jobs essentially demand they speculate about other people’s lives. 

Other than that, however, being friends with Harry is unusually easy. It feels a lot like falling into an old habit, which makes no sense but it’s the only way to describe it when Louis lets himself think about it long enough. Harry keeps Louis constantly caffeinated throughout his shift, Louis discourages Harry from making any adjustments to his mom’s menu, and together they harass and badger everyone else around them until they get dish towels thrown in their faces. 

They slot together, somehow. And Louis is fine with it. 

“Are we going to do this?” 

Harry doesn’t look up at Louis from where he’s lying down. Or maybe he does. Louis can’t definitively say when Harry’s wearing his sunglasses. They’re on the bridge overlooking the water, and while Louis is sitting upright and letting his feet skim the surface, Harry is sprawled out messily, his lanky limbs starfished in opposite directions. He might not even be awake.

“Beg pardon?” Harry drawls. 

Okay, so at least he’s conscious. That puts a wrench in Louis’ plan to dead leg him awake.

“I thought we had a deal.” Louis tips his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose on the off chance that Harry might be able to see his disappointment. “Or was I brought here under false pretenses?”

A laugh rumbles its way out of Harry, one that Louis can feel in the old wood beneath him. “You make yourself sound like a hostage.” 

“Aren’t I?” 

For someone who’d been so sluggish only seconds ago, Harry is quick to kick Louis in the calf. Louis pays him back in kind with a split second pinch to the side. Good to know that they’ve crossed those boundaries, then. 

It’s their first day off together, and the first time they’ve hung out anywhere other than Blue Flag. Harry, the persistent menace that he is, had coaxed Louis’ schedule out of an all too willing Lou before wheedling him into meeting up today. He’d even offered to drive, which might be the only reason why Louis is here in the first place, seeing as he’s spent the last week and a half running his shit station wagon down to the last possible drop of gas in his tank. 

Now they’re here, at this creek half a mile away from the center of town and hidden in a patch of trees Louis would have overlooked any other day. Harry calls it his favorite spot in all of Wisconsin, which he claims with such bulletproof earnestness that Louis can only smile as he says it. Because the thing is, Louis can understand why. From the sunlight streaming through the canopy above to the footbridge just big enough to accommodate the two of them, it’s picturesque in the way that small towns ought to be. 

“You’re not,” Harry says calmly. “You want to hang out with me. You _love_ spending time with me.” 

Louis scoffs. “That’s such bullshit.” 

“Say what you want, but you wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Harry lets out a relaxed sigh. “Besides, I’m driving, so you’re here for as long as I am.”

Louis pumps his fist in the air. “So I’m right! I _am_ a hostage!” 

Harry shushes him. “Be quiet. You’re disturbing my quiet time.”

“I thought we were going to talk about colleges, Harold.” 

“We will.” 

“I have a really hard time believing that.”

Harry sighs again and Louis falls onto his back, defeated. At least it’s cool here in the shade. Actually, Louis could fall asleep like this. It’s not a bad idea. Maybe he’ll come out here on his own one of these days when the girls are being little shits. 

“The first and only rule of my creek,” Harry starts, barreling on when Louis snorts, “is to never disrupt its peace with harsh realities of the outside world.”

“Big words.”

Harry props himself up on his elbow at that, peering down at Louis with an arched eyebrow. His eyes match the trees. “That means we don’t talk about college here, asshole. We can do it somewhere else. But here…” He lies down again, this time folding his arms under his head, “Here, we do happy things.”

Louis counts the leaves that float down from overhead. “I don’t even want to _know_ what that means.”

They don’t actually get another opportunity to talk about colleges until several days later, when Harry invites him over for dinner. It’s nothing, it’s inconsequential; he’s had so many dinners at Zayn’s house that he practically owes the Maliks free meals at Blue Flag for the rest of his life. But he’s nervous all the same, and he wants to make a good impression.

As it turns out, doing so isn’t that difficult, not when Harry apparently exists to serve as the brunt of his family’s jokes. But it’s all in good fun, and Louis suspects that Harry enjoys the attention more than he lets on. He and Gemma team up as Harry’s mom watches with a secret smile behind forkfuls of ziti, and they sit at the table for a few hours swapping college stories and old anecdotes from years of knowing each other. Harry chimes in every so often, and by dinner’s end, Louis forgets about his nerves completely.

The only downside to such a long dinner is the food coma that comes afterward. So the two of them lounge in Harry’s room - Harry on the bed and Louis on a bean bag near the closet - until Louis can find it in himself to drive home. By then, Harry has fallen asleep and Louis has taken full stock of his bedroom: the obscure movie posters on the wall, the weird art books sitting worn and used on the shelves. It’s an assortment that could only belong to someone with sights set outside of Springwick, and Louis thinks about it on the entire drive home.

The next day has him working the afternoon of Harry’s day off. He’d like to think it doesn’t make a difference, but it does. Things move slower.

“Where’s lover boy?” Lou asks him during one of their lulls.

“Aren’t you busy gestating?” Louis asks lazily as he fills the mustard bottles.

Lou laughs and pats him once on the rear. “Bad mood. Separation anxiety, I get it. I miss Tom when he’s away, too, you know.” She scuttles away faster than any pregnant woman Louis has ever seen when he moves to pinch her arm.

Dinner is blessedly quiet, leaving Louis with enough time to sneak a slice of strawberry pie in the back. When he comes back to the floor, most of his section has cleared out and left behind a respectable amount in tips - just enough to brighten his mood after working so many consecutive hours without anyone to flick salt at.

It isn’t until later, about an hour and a half before closing, that another large group comes in and claims the large booth in the corner against the window. As Louis goes to grab menus, he notices they’re all teenage boys not much younger than him, meaning high school kids. Awesome.

He’s several paces away from their table when he notices Niall Horan’s blond head, which means -

“Louis!”

Harry is sitting inside the booth, only one person away from the edge, and he looks incredibly put out by the situation once Louis gets to them. He reaches out - actually leans across the table with grabby hands - to draw him in. But let it be said that Louis Tomlinson, with his ironclad resistance to flushed, curly haired flirts, kept his distance.

“Boys,” Louis greets flatly. 

The handful of them mumble out their greetings, but it’s only Niall who manages to eke out something coherent. “Hey, Tomlinson. Louis. Look, I’m - uh…” He leans into Louis from where he’s sitting at the edge of the booth, his voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m the only sober one of the group.”

Louis blinks. “It’s barely nine.” 

“Got any better suggestions?” Niall grins, his fingers tapping against the table. The rest of the boys seem to have dissolved into their respective conversations, but Louis is hyper aware of Harry staring straight at him, his hands folded in his lap. He doesn’t make eye contact.

Louis sighs. “What can I get for you?”

One of them smacks the jukebox on the table, currently playing the Carpenters’ ‘Top of the World,’ and yells, “Some better songs!” But the boy - Feeney, Louis thinks - gets slapped across the head for his trouble, shooting daggers at everyone sitting around him before shrinking back into his seat. Harry doesn’t fidget during the entire exchange. 

“Two baskets of fries to start with,” Niall laughs, bringing Louis back to their previous conversation. “Make that three. Then some chicken tenders for the table, however many you think we’ll eat, with double ranch and one honey mustard for Gordon over here. Plus an Elvis Presley milkshake for me and waters for everyone else.” When the one sitting next to him, Gordon presumably, shoves Niall in the shoulder, he shoves right back and says, “Fuck off, I drove you dickheads here, so I get to make the important decisions.” 

Louis coughs. “That it?”

“Yeah, thanks man.” Niall bumps his fist against Louis’ free hand.

He walks away without sparing a glance over at Harry, whose eyes he can still feel tracking him in the back of his skull. Once he gets the order in, he returns to his position by the dessert case, which he had been wiping down before the mass exodus arrived.

The music playing from the jukebox is about all Louis can focus on as he sprays Windex and swipes it away with his rag. He doesn’t think about Harry, definitely not about Harry, who, judging from what Louis had just seen, is a very stoic drunk. The thread of thought doesn’t get away too quickly from him, if only because the sound of footsteps falling just behind where he’s crouched on the floor keeps him from letting it unspool any further. 

“Hey. Louis, hey.” 

Louis doesn’t face Harry immediately, instead moving around to the other side of the counter so there’s a physical barrier between them. It’s not for any real reason other than Louis is working and Harry isn’t; it’s professional. 

When he looks back up, Harry is on one of the stools with his face caught between his hands. If he had a milkshake in front of him, he’d be about 7 years old. Which, come to think of it, might not be a thought Louis should pursue right now. Or ever.

“You’re drunk,” Louis says, proud of himself for sounding unaffected. 

Harry gives him a clown smile. “I am, a little bit, yeah. You?” 

Louis laughs in spite of himself. “No, Harry. I am not drunk.”

“Sad.” Harry actually frowns, which pairs up quite nicely with his cheeks mottled pink. “You should’ve come over to Gordon’s. I bet you’re very happy when you drink. Happier, I mean.”

“I thought you said you didn’t drink.”

A sly grin works its way across Harry’s plush lips, making him look a lot younger and giving him an added edge of mischief. “Not in front of boys I’m trying to impress.” Then, after Louis hasn’t responded, he adds, “I totally forgot you were working tonight. Oops.”

“Right,” Louis says slowly.

“Oh my god,” Harry hiccups. His face falls. “Please don’t...please don’t tell your mom about this. Please? That would - like, really suck.”

“Relax, Harry,” Louis hisses, swooping in before Harry hurts himself with more unneeded grief. “D’you really think I’d tell my mom?”

Harry doesn’t have an answer, but he looks genuinely bothered by the very idea, and the lamp hanging overhead only serves to accentuate his distress. So Louis does the only thing he knows to do and reaches over into the dessert case, pulling out a slice of banana pudding and sliding it across the counter so it sits in front of Harry. The gesture, however, seems wasted on him, and it’s all Louis can do to _not_ reach over and force feed him. 

“Eat the pie, Styles. It’ll solve everything.” 

“What.” Harry stares down at the offering, eyebrows creased. “Are you still - I mean, are we still okay?” 

Louis shouldn’t be, but he’s hopelessly endeared. Maudlin drunkenness is, he supposes, a charming trait exclusive to Harry Styles. “Yes,” he answers, handing over a fork. “Please eat.”

“Okay,” Harry says, picking up the fork. “Only because I like you, though.”

Louis bites down on words that come to mind, maybe only because Harry is drunk and might not even remember their exchange in the morning. Besides, the silence is worth it when he manages to fling a palmful of salt at an unsuspecting Harry, who’s just drunk enough to look up at the ceiling dazedly before attacking the remaining sliver of his pie. 

\--- 

If Harry is hungover the next morning, Louis isn’t there to see it on his day off. He can imagine it though: Harry stumbling through the kitchen like a fawn finding its legs, wincing at the sound of clattering pans and hiding away in the walk-in refrigerator to keep from retching at the smell of recycled grease. Louis considers dropping by the diner fleetingly to be as obnoxious as possible, but then he catches a Will & Grace marathon on tv and the idea fades as quickly as it came.

He sticks close to his phone all day, not really expecting anything but still checking it absently for something new that might come through. The best he gets, however, are the series of snapchats Zayn sends him from his day trip with Liam into Milwaukee. Nothing about the Historic Third Ward screams romance at Louis, but maybe he’s just missing something.

Judging from Zayn’s loved-up Instagram feed recently, Louis is missing a lot of things.

Mom comes home in the early evening with food for the whole family - avocado grilled cheese for Lottie, bacon grilled cheeses for the rest of them. When he’s away at school, Louis doesn’t know what protocol for meals is, but when he’s home, Mom’s big deal is eating together as a family. It’s chaotic with the six of them huddled around their dining room table, though no more than if she’d corralled everyone into eating together at the diner. That’s something she’s long given up on, ever since she realized she couldn’t quite split her attention that way.

He helps the twins get ready for their baths after dinner while Lottie and Fizzy clear the kitchen. The girls don’t want to come along for the trip to the grocery store, mainly because Louis and Mom already know what junk food they prefer for movie nights. It’s less of a hassle, anyway, with just two of them rather than having the whole gang running up and down the aisles.

The grocery store is empty when they get there, save for the regulars who’ve been coming around this time for years now to buy their alcohol. Louis and his mom split up; she heads for the ice cream freezers while he makes a beeline for the candy aisle. It’s a system, one they’ve got down pat. 

He ignores the flashier Fourth of July sales and skims the shelves for their favorites. Raisinets, Milk Duds, Dots, Sweet Tarts - the works. He grabs a pack of Sugar Daddies just for him, and sidesteps down a couple feet for some M&Ms to throw in with the popcorn they’ve got sitting in the pantry back home. By the time he’s satisfied, Louis is left with an armload of candy and desperately wishing for a cart or basket. If there’s one thing the Tomlinsons don’t do by halves, it’s movie night.

Just as he makes to leave, Louis swings around only to narrowly avoid colliding with the only other person in the aisle with him. As it turns out, that only other person is Harry.

“Lou.” Harry stabilizes him with both hands braced on his arms.

Louis falters and feels his eyes go round. “Oh, hi Harry.”

Harry lets go, but his eyes study the boon in Louis’ arms. He smirks. “Got a sweet tooth?”

“Ha ha,” Louis says dryly, taking a step backward. “Not that I’ll ever be able to convince you otherwise, but this isn’t all for me. So you can take your organic mumbo jumbo lecture and save it for another day.”

Harry barks out a laugh, loud and uninhibited for a grocery store. He smells like he’s just gotten off work, which sounds more repellent than it actually is. He’s also wearing a snapback with a flannel, and Louis would make fun of him for the combination if he didn’t secretly want to tug at the springy bits of hair peeking out from under his hat’s brim.

“Duly noted,” Harry says with a wink. “Hey, listen. I’m actually glad I caught you, because I feel like I should apologize for last night.”

He should just put Harry out of his misery and accept the apology without question. But Louis sees an opportunity and takes it. 

“Apologize for what?”

Harry half-groans and half-laughs, like he’d been expecting this. “Lou, c’mon.”

“I swear,” Louis says, letting his voice drop into a harder Midwestern twang, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Mind refreshing my memory?” 

“You’re the worst,” Harry grumbles. But he’s smiling as he scrubs a hand across his face. “God. Okay. I...am sorry for showing up drunk at the diner last night and making a fool of myself.”

“And eating my free pie,” Louis points out. “Don’t forget that part.”

“And eating your free pie,” Harry parrots sheepishly. His eyes fall to his shoes. “Yes. Anyway, I’m sorry about - that.”

Pleased, Louis kicks out at Harry’s shin. “Nah. You didn’t make a fool of yourself. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry looks up, his eyes shining under the fluorescent lighting. “Yeah?”

Louis shrugs, but hopes his smile says it all.

“Good,” Harry sighs, relieved. “I was thinking about it all day.”

Before Louis can press for more, his mom shows up at the end of the aisle, her head popping into Louis’ field of vision just above Harry’s shoulder. She looks like it physically pains her to be inside the grocery store a second longer, but then her eyes land on Harry’s back and something seems to go off across her face. Louis braces himself

“Harry,” she says, sauntering up with a gallon of ice cream in each arm. Mint and cookie dough, as requested.

Louis stifles a laugh at how Harry’s eyes widen, or how he seems to back away as far as he can from her son. “Hi, Mrs. Tomlinson,” he greets, fingers twined in front of him.

“Hi, Harry,” she says, eyes darting between the two of them. “What’s going on here, boys?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, too quickly to be subtle. Mom nods, though she’s leveling him with a look that seems to say she doesn’t believe him. That, or she’s been talking to Lou in the kitchen. “Just ran into Harry here. He’s going home now, though.”

Harry blinks when they both turn to look at him, and Louis can’t tell who he’d like to facepalm more in this situation. “Yeah, I was just about to - um, get an air freshener for my truck and leave." 

If Louis had his way, he’d have teleported clear across Wisconsin by now, all the way back to school.

Jay tuts and, in an unprecedented move, hands her basket over to Harry, who accepts wordlessly. “How about you help me carry that to the front and then come over for a movie?” Louis nearly chokes on air, but she ignores him. “The girls picked The Hunger Games again, though I’m sure we can persuade them otherwise.”

Harry glances quickly at Louis for help. “You really don’t have to - ” 

“We’ve got more candy than we know what to do with,” she cuts in, patting Louis’ arm but making no effort to help him hold any of it. “I can call your mom to let her know if you want.”

“Not necessary,” Harry says, smiling slowly now. “Um, yeah, sure, I’ll come over if you don’t mind. That sounds nice.”

Louis scowls at his mom.

“Good,” she says, throwing Louis a sweet smile. “Louis, drop some of your candy in Harry’s basket. You look like you’re about to have an accident.”

Once she’s disappeared ahead of them, Louis glares at Harry, who still seems confused by what’s just happened. “Don’t you know how to lie?”

“To her?”

Louis dumps all the candy in the basket. “ _Especially_ to her.”

\---

The first few days of July are heavy, weighed down with a mugginess that Louis knows in his bones but had conveniently forgotten about. If he were younger, he’d join his sisters in the pool they’ve set up in the front yard. Instead, he takes frequent - cold - showers and goes to bed shirtless most nights, which means sweating through his sheets until the air conditioning kicks in.

His mom keeps Blue Flag open on the Fourth of July, but Louis grills hot dogs in the backyard for the girls - and Zayn and Liam - before heading to the high school football field to watch fireworks. It’s a whole town affair, the way most things are throughout the year. They bring zebra popcorn and set up lawn chairs, playing Uno and making small talk with the other kids around them until the first rocket pops off into the sky.

If he’s obvious about how he looks around the field for another familiar face, nobody brings it up.

The thing is, Lottie and Fizzy like Harry just fine, but it’s Daisy and Phoebe who haven’t stopped asking about him since Mom cajoled him into coming over the other night. He’d been a seamless addition to their family movie tradition as soon as he sat down on the couch, knowing when to ask questions and when to let the scene play on its own. And by the time he pulled out of their driveway, he had earned the approval of all the Tomlinson women. Which probably shouldn’t have felt as significant as it did, seeing as everyone else he’s ever been friends with - Zayn, mostly - went through the same vetting process. But it helps Louis breathe a little easier all the same.

They’re working the closing shift together, one time out of a handful so far, and Louis’ on his break while Harry’s at the grill. Mom keeps trying to shoo him away from the counter, but he’s perfectly fine here, thanks.

“U of M has a good music program,” Louis calls out, skimming through the website he has open on his phone. “Not that far either, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Harry doesn’t respond, or if he does, Louis can’t hear it above the usual diner hum around him. But that’s fine. He sips from his peach iced tea through the straw and flicks over to the next article.

“Or you could look at Eastman School in New York. Oh but it’s not actually _in_ New York, like the city...and it only has a thirteen percent acceptance rate…” He frowns, zooming in on a panel of statistics. “You know what, come out here when you’re finished and tell me what you think!”

“Louis!” His mom appears in front of him, features patient but her eyes crazed. “Honey, I love you, but I don’t think these folks wanna hear about trips to Michigan and New York.”

“They’re not _trips_ , Mom, and it’s for Harry - ”

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard.” She glances over at the only other customer at the counter, who seems more interested in his shepherd’s pie than their conversation. Louis taps his fingers expectantly against the plastic and she sighs. “Show some discretion, won’t you?”

“Haven’t learned that word yet,” he singsongs as she heads toward the supply closet. Harry emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron and adjusting the scarf thing he’s got tied around his head. Louis privately thinks it’s a good look, if not slightly ridiculous.

“Did I hear Houston?” he asks, peering over the counter at Louis’ phone.

“Eastman.” He hands it over to Harry, pushing up on his knees so that the stool whines under his weight. Rude. “It’s a school.”

Harry’s eyebrows crease as he reads. “This is great, Lou. But this is just for music.”

“I thought you said you wanted - ”

“I’m not sure what I want,” Harry says honestly, setting Louis’ phone down. He’s got a smudge of sauce on his chin. “Or if I want to go to college in the first place.”

Louis bites his cheek. “But I thought - ”

“I know, I know,” Harry says, a soft smile curling at his mouth. He leans forward and Louis instinctively sits back down. “You’re cute when you get all rally girl for me. It’s flattering.”

Heat rushes to Louis’ face. “I am _not_ getting rally girl for you, or whatever the hell that means.”

Harry’s going to say something, but then Lou swoops in and starts badgering him about the order for two pork chop specials she put in ten minutes ago and are they ready yet? He shoots Louis an apologetic face, mouthing _later_ before he’s whisked back into the kitchen. Louis rolls his eyes in return, swallowing past questions that won’t quite come out.

Later that night, the lights have dimmed and Louis is the only one out front, refilling saltshakers to the hollow sound of music playing from his phone. Lou’s gone home for the night, claiming swollen ankles, and Harry’s in the kitchen wiping down the kitchen until it meets his mom’s impossible standards. She’s somewhere here, too, probably in the back room with a pile of receipts and other administrative work that he’ll never be able to do.

He drinks from his coffee - his fourth cup today - and frowns when it’s gone cold. If it were any other time than ten thirty, he’d ask Harry for a new one. As it is, Harry hasn’t been particularly forthcoming about accommodating Louis’ caffeine habit.

Almost like he can read Louis’ mind, Harry comes through the kitchen doors with a plastic baggie of something green and shriveled. “Snap pea crisps?”

Louis makes a retching sound. “You’re relentless. And annoying. I hope you know that.”

Harry shrugs, apparently unfazed. “Your body’s a temple, Lou." 

“No.” Louis shakes his head disbelievingly. “Nope. I refuse to believe you actually say shit like that.”

“I don’t,” Harry laughs, sidling up close and taking a saltshaker for himself. “But I knew it’d piss you off, so.”

“You’re a child.”

Harry doesn’t disagree, and they work together in agreeable silence until all the shakers have been filled. Louis stalls and skims over them with his hands just for something to do. He could tell Harry what’s been on his mind since earlier that afternoon, and break the quiet that way, or he could just disappear into the parking lot until his mom is ready to go home. 

Or Harry could end up offering to give him a ride, because he’s exactly the type of person to do that, and he’d wonder what Louis was up to, standing outside like a goddamn scarecrow with nothing better to do. And Louis being Louis, he’d say something stupid or offensive, which would be incredibly unfortunate, seeing as Harry has been decent company all summer. More than, really. 

He hopes he’s not being totally transparent. 

But then Mom comes out, saving Louis from having to make any split second decisions. “Ready to go home, boys?”

Louis is going to say _please let’s go_ , but he catches Harry watching him meaningfully from the corner of his eye. And it’s not subtle, because Harry’s got the subtlety of a freight train, but it makes him pause. 

Mom considers him curiously, like she knows what he’s about to say.

“I think, um.” He stares down at his upturned palms on the counter. “I’m gonna stay a bit and finish some stuff. Harry can drive me home after. Right?” he adds, turning to Harry.

“Yes.” He nods furiously. “Yeah, definitely.” 

“Alright,” Jay says, clearly amused but not mean enough to call them on their bullshit. “Lock up properly. And I know how much money is in the register, in case either of you are thinking of disappearing in the morning.”

“Mom.”

She clucks happily and walks out the front door, her retreating back the only thing Louis can watch until she’s in the car and drives away. Harry shifts around next to him.

“You didn’t drive today?”

“It would appear not.”

“Louis - ”

“Harry.” He swivels a bit so they’re face to face. For however taller and bigger Harry is than him, he’s surprisingly compliant. Louis swallows. “Can I go first?”

Harry nods, worrying his lip. “Go ahead.”

“Like earlier - I’m not trying to force you into anything.” He twines a pinky around a saltshaker and lets it lean against his hand, a weight to help him keep his nerve. “And I don’t want to, like, make you uncomfortable. It’s really easy for me to get carried away, so I need you to tell me if I am.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks quietly.

“If I’m being an asshole with the college thing, let me know. I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, even if that’s not what I’m doing, I think? I like helping out, but not if I’m being a dick about it.”

A beat of silence follows, one that has Louis’ mind going fuzzy at the edges with the possibility of being told that yes, he’s gone too far. But then Harry’s hand ends up on his arm, resting there, gentle without pressure. 

“You’re not, I swear. You’re the first person outside my family who makes me want to care, and that’s really, really nice.”

“Yeah, but - ”

“I’m a bit slow,” Harry admits, his thumb swiping over the tiny bone in Louis’ wrist. “So I appreciate the help. I need someone to help me figure my shit out.”

“Okay.”

“You believe me?”

“Yeah.” Louis lets out a breath. “What was your thing?”

“Oh.” Harry drops his hand and picks at a loose thread on his shirt instead. He seems so distant before saying, “I wanted to know if you’d maybe want to get dinner with me.”

If Louis had been holding something, he would have surely dropped it. He might have dropped it anyway of his own accord, just to give himself a diversion from Harry’s question. This feels like an appropriate time to have an out of body experience, at this unlikely turning point in conversation, but he’s still very much standing in the diner. 

“Not now,” Harry clarifies, a little breathless. “And not here, because I know we eat together a lot when we work together.”

Feeling restores itself to Louis’ limbs. “Dinner?”

“Maybe later this week?”

Louis’ eyes travel to the front door out of habit. No one’s coming in right now. “Harry…” He’s not oblivious to what’s been going on between them, or to what Harry looks like right now, open and vulnerable yet inviting in jeans and a white t-shirt, for chrissakes. But he’s also practical, and that comes first.

“Okay, okay,” Harry says, like he’s psyching himself out. “I know it was a bit of a risk to ask you. Is it because we work together?”

“Yes.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. It sounds half-assed, even to him. “Also, like. I’m going back to school, H." 

“So am I.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Somehow, Harry’s shoulders don’t slump like Louis expected them to. He moves closer, though, and Louis keeps careful measure of the space left between them. “What about a test run?” 

“A what?” Louis asks, his voice coming out more resigned than he would have liked.

“Dinner, but no strings attached,” he explains, giddy and undeterred. “What about right now?”

“Right now?”

He pokes Louis in the stomach. “Are you hungry?”

Louis would lie and say no, but all he’s had to eat today is the cornbread that Harry snuck him. Four hours ago. “Sure,” he says.

Harry visibly brightens. “Chicken clubs for two? How does that sound?”

Judging by his stomach’s enthusiastic response, Louis thinks they sound very good. When he says as much out loud, Harry claps - actually claps - and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Louis alone with several seconds to pull himself together. It’s only dinner, he tells himself, and once he’s worked himself through that mental block, he considers what he can do to help.

Harry’s already got two marinated chicken cutlets on the grill, and he’s slicing open an avocado where he’s assembling the sandwiches off to the side. Louis takes it upon himself to put the fries in the deep fryer, earning a thumbs-up from Harry as he moves over to the freezer to pull out vanilla ice cream for their root beer floats.

This is likely the unhealthiest he’ll ever see Harry eat again. But even if this is just a test run, they’re going to do this right.

They make quick work of putting the dinner together. Louis sets a table out front, pulling out the seats and leaving the freshly-salted fries there to cool. He pulls two salads from their container and dresses them with his mom’s balsamic vinaigrette - a house favorite - and makes sure to top them with cracked pepper and sea salt the way he always does. He returns with two cloth napkins from under the utensil bin, and Harry’s sliding their plates onto the table, looking about as pleased as Louis secretly feels inside.

Harry goes to ring their meals up and stuffs a couple bills into the register, and Louis heads back into the kitchen to get their floats. Outside, Harry’s sitting down at their table and lighting a votive that he stole from the counter. Of course.

“This smells delicious,” Harry says, smiling when Louis sits down opposite him.

“Don’t gloat.”

He laughs unabashedly - and it’s the perfect start to a wonderful test run. They don’t talk about colleges, mostly because Louis is still wary about treading that topic, but they cover just about everything else. It’s hard to imagine learning more about Harry given all the time they’ve spent together already, but Louis listens as Harry goes on about reading John Steinbeck for summer English homework and missing the pool with so much time left before swim season. Louis laughs when Harry pulls a walrus face with his french fries, and he groans when Harry tells him, without any trace of irony, that he’s his favorite part of summer break thus far.

Even when Louis pushes his face away and calls him unbearable, it’s nice. 

He goes to grab waters from the kitchen, because of course that’s the one part they forgot, but Harry’s not at their table when he comes back. Instead, he’s on a stool at the counter, smiling carefully. “Hey.” 

Louis sets the waters down near the register. “What’s up?”

“Come here.”

He goes easily, having come this far already. Harry’s watching him brightly as he approaches, a curious intensity in his expression, and he spreads his legs open to let Louis fall between them. Everything goes quiet in his head.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Harry says softly, both his hands coming to roost at Louis’ hips. “Would that be okay?”

For once, Louis is taller than Harry with the way they’re positioned, and there’s something very appealing about that right now. So he moves in closer, bringing his hands to Harry’s shoulders and smiling helplessly as he goes, pausing once they’re breathing each other’s air.

“I don’t kiss on first dates,” he says, because he’s cool and it’s the most original line he can think of. 

“Not a first date,” Harry corrects, squeezing Louis’ sides. “A test run.” 

That is, potentially, even dumber than what Louis just said. But it’s also the only incentive he needs to squash the nagging voice of protest in the back of his head and bridge the gap. Their lips brush at first contact, and Harry blows warm air out on an exhale. Louis muffles a laugh as his hands move to cradle Harry’s neck, hauling him in closer and kissing him properly.

It’s sweeter than the most recent kisses that Louis has had at school - kisses that he shouldn’t even be thinking about right now because Harry is warm and shaking and so lovely. He lets his lips catch against Harry’s as he moves, and they kiss like that, enjoying each other and letting the moment settle between them. They keep it dry and chaste, but Louis’ stomach burns with it anyway, heating him up from the inside out until he’s smiling again and he has to break off. 

There are stars in Harry’s eyes when Louis opens his own, and it’s so beautiful and absurd that he starts laughing, actually _heaving_ until Harry joins him, resting his temple against Louis’ collarbone. Together they hold that position for half a minute or longer, and Louis is gone, gone. 

“We have to clean up,” he whispers conspiratorially, and Harry only half groans.

“Why.”

“Because _you_ couldn’t wait.” Louis jams a finger in Harry’s side. He jumps, ticklish, but doesn’t pull away.

“Don’t regret a thing,” Harry says simply, thumbs rubbing circles into Louis’ hip bone.

Louis snorts, though not unkindly, and drops a fleeting kiss to Harry’s hair before untangling himself and twisting away. The dirty dishes on their table are a stark reminder of the reality that exists outside this moment. “I’ll wash,” he says, blowing out the candle.

Harry sighs. “I’ll dry.”

\---

The next three days come up on Louis like indigestion.

He must’ve missed the memo declaring this week national tourist week, because Blue Flag is the busiest he’s seen it since coming home for the summer. It gets like this once in a while, usually around times of the year when families go on vacations with their kids and travel cross country, stopping by in normally overlooked towns for a “local experience.” And seeing as Blue Flag has something of a reputation in a handful of travel brochures across the state, they end up here.

Here, where they loiter for hours on end and waste Louis’ time asking for their gluten-free menu or natural juices selection, which - he’ll repeat until he turns blue in the face - they _don’t have_. This is the heartland of America, where things are what they are and you don’t ask questions.

There’s one day when a little boy, towheaded and let loose around the diner, stops just in front of Louis and says, “I didn’t know there were boy waitresses.”

It’s cuter than it is ignorant, and Louis says _stick around, kid, you might learn something_ , before dropping him off at his parents’ booth and earning his biggest tip of the season. Only in Wisconsin. 

But the upswing in business isn’t enough to cut through the palpable tension that seems to exist between Louis and Harry. It’s not tension in a bad way, at least Louis doesn’t think so, but it’s there nonetheless, apparent and looming where it never existed before. They don’t make eye contact often - though that might just be a consequence of Louis spending most of his time shuttling between tables - but when they do, it lasts longer than humanly acceptable and only ends when Harry squares his shoulders and turns away.

Louis wants to kiss Harry again, but he’s not sure where Harry’s head is. He hasn’t expressed interest in either direction, and in the meantime, they’re so obvious that anyone in their orbit would have no choice but to fall into it. 

Which is why Louis finds it strange that no one has brought it up yet. Maybe they’re all wrapped up in individual responsibilities, but even Lou, whose powers of observation have only heightened during pregnancy, seems to have backed down altogether. Where she’d normally tease them for hovering around each other and making lovesick eyes from across the dessert case, she’s transitioned into round-the-clock wedding talk. If not flowers, then she’s rattling on about table settings or quiche fillings.

Maybe this is what happens after kissing Harry Styles. Louis gets sent to the Twilight Zone.

It’s a theory that only further solidifies its plausibility when Harry invites him to the creek after work. After three days of tentative smiles and brief discussions very pointedly avoiding their dinner together, Harry asks him if he’d like to hang out for the rest of the afternoon. So he leaves his car keys with Mom and hops in Harry’s truck, poorly holding in his laughter when Shania Twain starts playing on the speakers. 

“What,” Harry asks flatly. But he’s biting on his bottom lip and Louis sees right through him. “She’s the queen of country pop.”

“She’s Canadian.” 

“So?”

Louis shakes his head and rests his feet on the dashboard, ignoring Harry’s scowl. “Just when I thought I had you all figured out, you start shit like this.” For whatever reason, that sets Harry off, and soon they’re laughing in tandem as Harry pulls out onto the road.

The midafternoon sky is blue and uninterrupted, and it’s the kind of day he’d spend on the lake’s beach if he were back at school. Here, however, it’s the perfect day for ice cream, or so Harry thinks, when he parks briefly in the town square and comes back with a cone for each of them - strawberry sorbet for him, butter pecan for Louis.

Their cones last on their trip to the creek, where they spread out on their usual spots on the bridge. Louis kicks off his shoes and sets them to the side, letting his feet dangle over the water. It’s nice enough out that he could get away with getting in; he still might, if he’s up for it later.

Harry, who’s still got a bit of ice cream left, lets his tongue run along the pink trails dripping down his cone. And Louis doesn’t stare, because there’s _nature_ around them, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the sunny gaps between the leaves hanging over him as he picks up their thread of conversation from earlier in the truck. 

“I guess dining hall food is disgusting when you really think about it,” Louis muses, resenting himself the tiniest bit for forgetting his sunglasses at home. “But - and no offense to my mom, okay, and I’ll kill you if you ever tell her this - all I ever eat when I’m here is diner food. Which, like, gets a bit tired when you want general tso’s chicken.”

Harry throws the last piece of cone in his mouth. “I make Chinese food.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. But that’s no use to me all the way in Evanston.”

“No, I mean like, here.”

“That sounds good,” Louis says before he really considers the implications. “Anyway. I know that must be a really weird thing to miss about school, but if I had to pick one thing, I’d say ordering take out. That’s what I’d choose.”

“Not the people?”

“I mean, _other_ than the people.” Louis snorts. “But how bored do you get hearing that answer? That’s basically a given.”

“Do you miss the people here when you’re at school?”

Louis pauses, his fingers tapping a random pattern on his sternum. “Yes,” he starts slowly. “But… I dunno. I’m gonna sound like a dick.”

“You won’t.” 

“Alright, well.” He shifts his weight so he’s leaning on an elbow and looking at Harry, who seems to be paying the utmost attention. It’s kind of intimidating. “Of course I miss my family but also - I don’t? Maybe not actively and all the time, I guess. It’s nice being able to do my own thing.” His eyes flick to the knotted wood under him. “And anyone else, like Zayn, I can text or call easily enough if I want.” 

Harry hums thoughtfully. His hand twitches from where it’s on his leg, like he wants to reach out, maybe. But Louis could also just be looking for things where they aren’t.

The seconds pass one by one and Louis wonders if he said the wrong thing. But Harry had asked, and he’d given a full disclaimer before proceeding, so. Rather than saying anything else, he can only play that moment over and over again in his head, the one from the diner, with Harry’s face slowly coming into focus seconds before they kissed -

“Maybe I’ll be the same,” Harry says finally, and Louis exhales for what feels like the first time in ages. “If I go.”

Louis asks before he can help himself. “Are you thinking of going, then?”

Harry grins impishly, turning his face away toward the water. “We’ll see.”

Silence falls on them again, pregnant and full of possibility. Louis can’t remember the last time he was like this, not sure-footed but looking into every passing moment and trying to figure out what it meant - breaking storms into raindrops and back again. He feels frustratingly young. 

But then there’s a hand on his and Louis jumps without meaning to. Harry is hovering over him, the closest he’s been to Louis since that night in the diner. His face is calm, like his heart isn’t running a million miles a second the way Louis’ seems ready to burst out his chest, and he’s got soft light filtering through his curls that makes Louis want to look away. He holds his breath without thinking. 

“I’m going to kiss you again,” Harry says simply. “Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about and now you can’t run away.”

Louis frowns. “I wasn’t!”

Harry laughs, dropping his neck to Louis’ shoulder and lifting it up again. “Okay, maybe that was me.”

“I knew it.”

“Hey,” Harry chides gently, nudging Louis’ cheek with his nose. “I didn’t know what you were thinking.” 

That’s a fair point. Before their first date, Louis could only point out the downfalls to seeing each other. But since kissing Harry, his mind has been stuck in some kind of limbo that it might never escape unless they do it again. Probably. 

Riding high on a sudden swell of confidence, he whispers, “Why don’t you come up here and figure it out yourself?” 

Harry shudders, which has them both smiling like idiots right until he fits their lips together. Louis nudges up, daring to add more pressure than the last time, which has Harry responding enthusiastically and gently opening Louis’ mouth with his tongue. Harry’s hands don’t go past his waist, which Louis notices with a hint of amusement, but he makes sure to massage at his hips until their chests are aligned. Louis winds his arms around Harry’s neck, and it’s like falling into something he knows too well for only having rehearsed it once. 

They kiss until they need air, but Harry punctuates each breath with a soft kiss to Louis’ cheek, nose, chin, neck - and does it all over again until he’s ready for another go. Louis feels like the teenager he never was, kissing on a goddamn bridge in the middle of nowhere and getting overheated before they’ve even started anything. 

“As into this as I am,” Louis gasps, patting Harry’s face away when he leans in for another, “I’ve got plans to jump in the creek, and you kissing me until I can’t breathe might complicate things.” He kisses him several times in rapid succession anyway, and Louis sputters, “I’ll _drown_ , Harry.” 

“It’s, like, waist-deep,” Harry says, grazing his lips against Louis’ cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

“In that case - ” Years of carrying bags of flour and other heavy deliverables around the diner help him push Harry off and roll away before he can be hauled in again. Louis peels off his clothing until he’s standing only in his boxer briefs; he doesn’t miss how Harry’s eyes glaze over. “C’mon. Get in with me.”

That yanks Harry out of whatever reverie he’s fallen into, and it’s half a minute before they’re similarly undressed and in the water, splashing around as their clothes bake in the streams of sunlight. They wordlessly agree not to dunk or wrestle, seeing as they’ve both got mothers who’d kill them if they ended up with a head cold tomorrow morning. Instead, they twirl like graceless dancers and exchange small gifts each time a glittery rock catches their eye. 

They race from a mossy pile of rocks back to the bridge, and Harry mopes as Louis cheers and teases him for being on the swim team and losing, even when Harry reminds him they’re not actually swimming. But Louis doesn’t listen, and Harry seems fine with that as long as he gets kisses in return.

And he does, even when the sun has turned a dark orange and their toes lose all feeling in the water.

\---

“Finally,” Lou says when she catches Louis and Harry holding hands in the supply closet two days later. They’d been waiting all day for an opportunity to be near each other, much less to _touch_ each other, and that’s about as much as they can manage when there are customers and Louis’ mom out front. It makes Louis feel like he’s getting away with something.

Or, at least, it did.

“Um,” is Harry’s intelligent response, which has Louis stifling his laughter in the crook of his neck. 

“Kept me waiting long enough, didn’t you,” she clucks, reaching around them for a box of straws. As she leaves, she turns around with a warning finger directed at them. “No hanky panky where I can see it. This is a _family establishment_.”

Harry pouts for the rest of their shift, but Louis laughs in between taking orders, like he’s in on some joke. 

Things don’t change much between them, except for the fact that they kiss more than they did, and it has Louis wondering what the hell they’d been doing before any of this. They - Louis - set ground rules early on, namely that Harry won’t give him special treatment under any circumstances, such as giving him priority and cooking his orders first. And in turn, Louis promises not to stop bugging Harry when the kitchen is backed up. Life works best when there’s balance. 

Louis’ mom corners him at home by the weekend, because of course she’d been paying attention the whole time, and he has to sneakily text Lottie for backup when he hears about “health codes” and “no unexpected guests in that apartment” one time too many. But other than that, nothing feels out of the ordinary.

“You don’t have to do this. Like, really.”

Harry ignores him, opting instead to give his dough another run-through with his spatula. He’s got a splotch of it just beneath his eye, a pretty substantial clump that Louis would find funny in and of itself, if Harry would just fucking _look_ at him.

“It’s also hot as balls,” Louis continues, more forcefully this time. He’s sitting on the counter, which makes him taller than Harry right now, and he demands respect. “Are you sure this is what you want to be doing?”

Again, no answer. Louis would throttle him if it didn’t mean having to do it in his kitchen, only several feet away from where children are watching a movie in the living room. It would scar them, potentially.

It’s the first time he’s come over to Louis’ since they’ve started - whatever it is they’ve started. But while everything else seems normal to Louis, Harry’s apparently of the mind that he has to charm his sisters all over again, this time by making sprinkle cookies on a Friday night. Other people go to dinner or make out in the football field. But not Harry Styles.

“What’s he doing?” Mom asks as she comes in from where she’d been doing laundry in the basement.

“Baking,” Louis whispers mutinously.

She considers Harry briefly before heading for the living room. “He knows we like him, right? Darling, tell him we like him so he can stop this.”

Harry’s cheeks color as Louis cackles, but he resumes dropping large globs of dough on the cookie sheet. “Cookies are delicious,” he mutters under his breath. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever even _seen_ Harry eat a cookie, which only has him heaving that much more. It’s a nice feeling. 

“We’re only kidding, Styles.”

“Yeah, yeah.” But Harry doesn’t look genuinely put out. “See if I give you any cookies after this.”

“You’re in my kitchen,” Louis declares imperiously. “I’m entitled.”

Harry makes careful work of decorating each cookie with a decent coating of rainbow sprinkles, a concentrated line across his brow as he moves from one to the next. Louis fights the urge to pounce from where he’s seated; Mom had explicitly warned against any funny business before Harry had come over.

He tilts his head to the side. “Those actually look really good.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“Maybe.”

“If you are,” Harry starts patiently, “would you shut up if I told you that I’ve started putting together a list of schools?”

Louis freezes. “Wait. Really?”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, either, which Louis suspects might be a frustrating habit of his in times of importance. He’ll have to work on fixing that. But the corners of his mouth are quirking up, which tells Louis all he needs to know. He kicks his foot out but, almost like he’d been expecting it, Harry catches him by the ankle and loses himself to laughter.

“It’s a secret though,” he insists, fingers kneading at the sensitive spot just above Louis’ heel. “I’ll ask for help when I need it, but otherwise, I’m not telling you anything until I’m certain.”

Louis doesn’t try getting his foot back. “So, wait, you’re doing it? You’re gonna apply?”

Harry lifts his shoulders minutely, but his face is glowing. “Looks that way.”

“That’s…” Louis loses the words on his tongue, caught instead in the brightness of Harry’s smile. Even in the harsh lighting of the kitchen, he looks so soft this close to Louis, and the humidity has his curls fanning out like a halo around his head. Louis’ stomach flip flops inside of him, and it feels a lot like pride but also something else that he can’t pin down right now. “That’s so great, oh my god, kiss me right now.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. “But. Your mom - ”

“Don’t care. I’m nineteen, she can’t do anything to me.”

The argument is flimsy at best, but Harry gives in, eyes shining as he parts Louis’ lips with his own. They keep it short, but just enough that Louis can indulge in the sweetness of Harry’s mouth from sneaking bits of raw cookie. He’s applying to college after all, and it’s cause for celebration.

That’s a main topic of conversation the following night when they’re at Niall’s, and it’s second only to news that Louis and Harry have started seeing each other. Liam and Zayn are there, too, and it’s the first time they’re all hanging out as a group. But it works, and like a bunch of schoolboys, they do everything from playing hide and seek in the barn to dicking around on the makeshift slip ‘n slide they’d put together with some poly sheeting and a garden hose.

By evening, it feels like a proper summer night, one with the stars winking down at them and a bonfire raging in the center of their circle. With a beer in his hand, Louis is impervious to the way Zayn teases him for having Harry in his lap, or the way Liam and Niall haven’t stopped arguing at the grill about how to best make a burger. 

He tightens his grip around Harry’s waist and they watch the fire together, hand in hand.

\---

August brings with it the first thunderstorm of the summer, wrathful and every bit as relentless as the storms that kept Louis awake and frightened as a child. He handles them better now, such that he can even sense them beforehand; the smell hung in the air last night, sharp and distinct even when the girls could only smell the freshly cut grass of the front yard, or the driveway baking under the sun. But they’re no less intimidating, the monstrous fits of Wisconsin weather that pelt the windows and rattle the house.

He finds it fascinating in a detached sort of way, but he’s hardly immune to the cracks of thunder or the galloping rain out front. It’s why he told Harry to forget their plans for a picnic at the creek and come over to the apartment instead.

Louis wipes at his neck with the collar of his shirt, grimacing at the tacky feeling of the fabric practically adhered to his skin. He should abandon it altogether, the way that Harry had stripped down to his underwear as soon as he climbed onto Louis’ bed. But a part of him is holding out, hoping that he won’t have to surrender to the humidity just yet. Summer rain, for however much it cleanses and cools the earth and all that shit, doesn’t feel quite clean. Or cool.

Without a headboard, Louis has his head propped awkwardly on the wall. Harry is facing the opposite direction with his head near the laptop and his spaghetti legs splayed half across the mattress, half on Louis’ lap. It’s unnecessary body heat, but Louis pushes the thought from his mind in favor of absently running his hand up and down Harry’s calf. 

“This is so confusing to me.”

Louis ignores the beads of sweat forming on his brow line. “How so?” 

“I can’t keep track of everybody.” Harry points at the screen. “The only one I remember is Khaleesi.”

“There are more names in Lord of the Rings,” Louis points out.

“Haven’t seen those either.”

Louis slaps Harry’s leg and ignores how he lets out a noise halfway between surprise and intrigue. Maybe it’s the humidity or maybe it’s the proximity of Harry’s knee to his crotch, but Louis feels uncomfortably claustrophobic and pries Harry’s limb from his lap. That should help matters. 

But Harry takes that as his cue to flip over and inch closer to Louis. He’s got his hair pulled back with another headscarf – this one is American flag print – and Louis wants to push his face away. So he does. 

“You’re annoying,” Louis proclaims. “You’ve never seen one of the greatest film trilogies of all time.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out between his teeth. “I’ve seen Star Wars. The original ones. Does that count?” 

“Get away from me.” 

But Harry only drops a sticky hot kiss to the dip of Louis’ collarbone, apparently unbothered by the condensation there. Louis fights against the shudder working its way down his back. “I just want to cuddle. Stop playing hard to get.”

“Jesus,” Louis breathes before pulling away and, for good measure, rolling off the bed. “I can’t breathe in this room and you’re a fucking radiator. I feel like I’m on fire.” 

“Open a window.” Harry grins at him before mashing his head into a pillow. A pillow that Louis will have to wash now, along with the rest of his sweat-soaked sheets. “Or man up and cuddle me.”

“I’m getting water,” Louis decides. He swivels away before he does something stupid, like actually listen to Harry. 

The main house is minutely cooler, if only because Harry isn’t there to suck all the cold air out. The girls aren’t home, leaving him free to raid the pantry without competition. He downs an entire glass of water and filters through boxes of Oreos and Pop Tarts before settling on some organic potato chips. He can’t imagine how anything organic found its way into the Tomlinson household, but barbecue is his favorite flavor, so he grabs two bags. Harry is probably hungry, too, and he doubts anyone will notice if snacks have gone missing. 

Louis stumbles over a pair of Phoebe’s skates in the garage, cursing as he climbs the stairs back to the apartment. He can hear the closing credits for whatever episode they’ve just watched, and he wonders how long he can convince Harry to keep watching before he’s forced to cuddle and sweat all over him. Sometimes the heat gets him sleepy, and wouldn’t that just be the worst thing – to wake up half-naked with Harry when his mom gets home from the diner.

Not that she’s ever barged into the apartment unannounced before. But she also knows that Harry is over, and she sent out a mass email to family friends when Louis kissed the neighbors’ daughter on the cheek at his ninth birthday party. So there’s precedent for unpredictability and embarrassment here.

But Harry is sitting at the edge of the bed when he walks in. He looks uncharacteristically apprehensive, and it makes Louis squeeze down on the chips without meaning to.

“What’s up?” Louis asks, unable to keep his voice from shaking.

Harry shakes his head. “Join me.” And, in a move that leaves Louis breathless, he falls onto his back.

Louis sees that his laptop is on the floor now, set aside from where they might accidentally step on it. And for how impossibly hot it is in here, he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that have popped up on Harry’s arms. His gut twists with something familiar.

“Okay.” He sets the chips down on the dresser and approaches Harry carefully, stopping only when their knees bump together. Harry is looking up at him, openly curious and straining to keep his neck up. He’s small somehow as he pats the bed on either side of him, and that’s all the encouragement that Louis needs. 

He climbs onto the bed, bracing himself with knees bracketing Harry’s hips. Harry’s hands immediately find purchase at Louis’ thighs, gently drawing him in until he’s folded over Harry. He rests his forehead against Harry’s collarbone, breathing in and bunching his fingers in the sheets beneath his hands. Time stretches for as long as Louis allows it, and when he looks up, Harry is wearing an intimate smile that has his heart racing. 

From there, he leans in and brushes their lips together, a shadow of the real thing that has Harry kneading into the meat of his thighs. He smirks against Harry’s lips and pushes in, this time with real effort.

Harry responds in kind, moving his hands so they’re clutching at Louis’ jaw and keeping him there while he kisses like a man on a mission. Louis’ arms tremble with the weight of keeping himself from crushing Harry, but he can’t lose himself to this just yet. So he slows it down, taking deep breaths in between coaxing Harry’s mouth open with his tongue. Harry wants more, wants everything all at once, but Louis breaks away and hovers close enough so their lips barely touch as he speaks. 

“You’re shaking,” Louis whispers.

Harry laughs roughly, caught. “I can’t help it. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” Louis promises, ducking down again and sucking Harry’s bottom lip between his own. Harry makes a strangled noise, arms wrapping around Louis’ neck and pulling down until Louis’ elbows give out and he falls onto Harry with a winded breath. After a fleeting smile – the smug bastard – Harry kisses Louis like this is what he’d been planning all along, humming as their tongues slide alongside each other. When he shifts so their bodies align, Louis’ breath stutters in his throat.

He breaks off again. “Harry. What are we – what do you want?”

Harry shakes his head, too caught up in the heat of things, and tugs on Louis’ neck insistently. But someone has to steer this ship in a direction, and Harry is clearly satisfied with letting them float around aimlessly. Testing the waters, Louis wedges a hand between them, stopping short of where he can distinctly feel Harry against his hip. 

“This okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry rasps lowly. “Okay, yeah.” 

But Louis kisses him instead, quickly and following up with a series of pecks down the column of his throat. All he can hear is the sound of the battering rain outside, filling his head with a staccato rhythm to match the trail of kisses he leaves lower and lower on Harry’s body. Where he’d been warm earlier, Louis shivers as he runs his hands down the sides of Harry’s torso, feeling how solid and real he is.

Harry squirms from each touch, glistening with sweat and Louis just wants to wipe him down and make him sweat all over again. But seeing as they haven’t even finished yet, he laves his tongue down the bit of hair beneath Harry’s navel, and his hips buck up in response. Louis grins.

“It's so hot,” Harry says, fingers threading through Louis’ hair.

“Open a window,” Louis teases as he pulls Harry’s boxers down in one swift motion.

Louis sends a silent note of thanks to whoever might be listening that the house is empty, because the sound that Harry makes from the kiss Louis sucks into his thigh is absolutely filthy. He’s only done this a handful of times, far less than he’d expected to when he first went off to college, which has him feeling like it’s the first time all over again. Which – it might as well be, because nobody has made him quite as eager to completely ruin a person like Harry has. He’s unbelievable, spread out and living on Louis’ time, despite the obvious desperation on his face.

“Surprisingly enough,” Louis starts, eyes darting up to Harry, “this has solved my overheating problem.”

Harry lets out a shallow laugh. “Glad to help.” 

“Yeah, I bet you are.” And he wraps a hand around Harry’s dick.

Harry’s body goes taut at Louis’ touch, and there’s a pretty flush blooming across his chest as Louis strokes him slowly. The air around them is charged; more like fireworksand less like lead as it had been all afternoon. In a remarkable display of restraint, Harry doesn’t buck into Louis’ grip, though his grip on Louis’ hair feels like a vice, but not in a bad way. It makes him want to lean down and take Harry into his mouth – 

Which is exactly when Harry decides to come.

Louis pulls back, surprised, and has no choice but to work Harry through it as a long keening sound wrings out of his throat. He notices then that he hasn’t taken his shorts off yet, but it’s impossible to focus on anything else other than Harry moaning and squirming on the mattress. 

“Jesus – _fuck_.” Harry shakes with a full-bodied shiver, still trembling with Louis’ hand on him. But Louis can’t help it, dazed by just how wrecked Harry seems.

He finally drops his hand and wipes it on his sheets, wrinkling his nose in disgust. They might have to open a window, after all.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Harry’s voice is barely discernible above the sound of the rain. “I didn’t – I’m usually more impressive than that.”

Louis laughs, breaking the tension and falling over with his head on Harry’s thigh. Harry joins in, albeit sheepishly, and he reaches down to pat at Louis’ hair apologetically. They’re sweaty and gross, but it’s the best feeling to be with Harry, just like this, even as he’s straining against his zipper almost painfully. Sex, he decides, is better with somebody to laugh with.

“Best rainy day ever,” he says.

Harry hums his agreement, pulling lightly at Louis’ hair for his attention. “C’mere and give me a chance to redeem myself.”

Louis goes easily.

\---

Though the rain finally breaks several days later, the stifling heat doesn’t. 

Everything on Louis’ drive to work in the morning is tinted yellow, hazy and unfocused the way it gets when the heat rolls off the road in waves and plays with his mind. Customers have been showing up in the least amount of clothing Louis has ever seen, staying longer than usual because of the air conditioning and drinking enough iced tea to fill a tractor’s tank. Between the constant sweating and the demanding crowds, it’s almost unbearable. 

It is interesting, however, to see how the spike in temperature affects the people around him. His mom deals with it by overworking herself at the diner and collapsing on the couch at home. Lou won’t stop talking about her wedding plans, not that she ever stopped, but she goes on as if constant discussion about registries will distract her from the unfortunate combination of heat and pregnancy. And Louis catches Perrie eating her lunch in the walk-in freezer more than once. 

Harry might be the worst of them all, though; he comes into work one day with a slump in his posture and a frown set on his face. At first, Louis thinks he might just be overheating and missing his usual state of nakedness. But when he hands Louis several orders without so much as a word, it’s obvious that it’s more than that. 

“Hey,” he tries when there’s a lull. Harry has his back to him where he’s standing at the grill, and he seems more interested in flipping burgers than making conversation. Louis has always appreciated a challenge. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

If this were Zayn, Louis would believe him. But the other day, he caught Harry talking to a butterfly that had landed on his windshield. So he remains unconvinced.

“Harry.”

The only response he gets is the sizzle of grilling meat.

Louis clears his throat, as if that might loosen the obvious tension in Harry’s shoulders. “You’re getting really good at your Charlie Chaplin impression. D’you get it? Because he did silent movies and you’re – _Harry_ , would you look at me?”

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Harry says without turning around.

“That’s never been an issue before.”

When Harry doesn’t respond to that either, Louis approaches him tentatively, careful to keep from leaning against anything that might burn him. He notices the firm set to Harry’s jaw, and he wants to reach out and smooth it out with his fingertips. But Harry might punch him. He keeps his hands to himself.

“Bad day?”

Harry keeps his face blank. “I think I hear Lou calling you outside.”

That’s a lie, because Louis can hear just about anything even across a crowded dining room, and he knows that and Harry knows that. It’s a blatant attempt to get Louis out of the kitchen, which – the realization stings more than it probably should and Louis hopes he doesn’t flinch noticeably when Harry says it. He studies Harry once more, hoping to catch something this time around he might have missed initially, but Harry doesn’t make eye contact and doesn’t say anything else. So he leaves.

He’d like to think it doesn’t affect his quality of work. And though he’s no less effervescent with the customers or efficient with his tabling abilities, Louis feels substantially deflated, like a balloon with all the air popped out of it. Even with an old Whitney Houston song playing from one of the booths’ jukeboxes, he can’t bring himself to do his usual shimmy-and-shake as he drops off a plate of pot roast and whipped potatoes. He can feel Lou staring at him from the counter, like she knows. 

But if Harry doesn’t want to talk, then maybe Louis doesn’t either. Even though he _does_ , because banter and fucking around with things in fun but inconsequential ways is his only means of getting through busy days like this one. Fortunately, Lou distracts him with developments from her recent ultrasound – something he’s genuinely thrilled to hear about – and it’s enough to help most of the afternoon slog along. 

Just before dinner, though, he sees Harry duck into the supply closet. And against all better instincts, Louis follows him. 

“Hey pal,” Louis says, closing the door behind him. 

Harry sighs and it shoots straight through Louis. “What.” 

“Thought I’d help you get ketchup or whatever it is that you’re in here for. That okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry grits out, though he hasn’t made a real attempt to push him out yet. That’s always a good sign. “I’m not a charity case.”

“I never said that,” Louis says, more defensive than he’d intended.

Harry doesn’t answer, which is starting to infuriate Louis now, and suddenly being stuck in close quarters with each other seems like less and less of a good idea. But Louis has never handled being ignored particularly well, and Harry’s apparently the type of person who’s _very_ good at ignoring people when the situation calls for it. Not that Louis can figure out what this exact situation might be, but the more you know.

Louis inhales sharply and folds his arms, wracking his mind for something safe to bring up with Harry. The safest option, he knows, is to back down. But experience with the stubborn Zayns and Lotties of his life have only conditioned him otherwise.

“Okay. So um – how’s your list of schools going?”

Without warning, Harry shoves the glass jar of pickles he’d been holding back onto the shelf and turns on Louis, who suddenly feels incredibly small. His face is thunderous.

“Stop, Louis. Just – _stop_.” His eyes are slits. “Just because you want to get out of here as quickly as you can doesn’t mean you need to force that on everyone else around you.” He pushes past Louis and doesn’t bother closing the door on his way out. No one else has noticed, which Louis should be thankful for, but he can’t exactly move with Harry’s words still bouncing around in his head. It takes a minute for the nausea to settle in. 

Harry leaves an hour before Louis’ shift ends, and that’s fine.

\---

Louis is exhausted when he gets home that night, his body aching and his head thrumming with pressure behind his eyes. It’s one of the worst ways to come home, mostly because he didn’t have his usual cups of coffee today, and he tries not to think about why. More than anything, he wants to shower. Maybe after standing under a stream of hot water, he’ll be able to wash the day off him.

He parks behind his mom’s car and sits in the driver’s seat for longer than he should, letting the car idle and keeping his forehead against the steering wheel. Something obscure is playing – some R&B track from a mix Zayn wheedled into his CD player last winter – but he leaves it on. The feeling of the worn leather digging into his skin is unexpectedly soothing, and it’s about all the comfort he needs right now.

When he looks up, he notices someone sitting on the steps leading to the front door. He instantly knows who it is, and only half of Harry’s face is illuminated from the glow of the porch light. Louis swallows hard and cuts the ignition.

It’s dead quiet outside, save for the sound of a breeze combing through the grass. He’s not cold, but the hairs on his arm prickle up anyway. Only two of the house’s windows are lit up; Louis gives it another twenty minutes until his family is asleep. With the stars glittering down at him, he wishes he could join them. 

“You didn’t text me back.” Harry’s hands are folded and hanging off his knees.

“Haven’t checked my phone.”

Harry nods minutely. “Makes sense.” He lifts a large hand to rub at his elbow. “I asked if I could come over.”

“Looks like you didn’t bother waiting for an answer.” Louis doesn’t mean to sound cold, but – well, maybe he does. He’s feeling entitled, and a little bit humiliated from earlier. No one ever said he was a paradigm of emotional maturity.

“Guess not,” Harry mutters wryly. “Would you – um, wanna sit down?”

Louis is beyond tired, and he can’t imagine that Harry is any less worn out than he is. The last thing either of them needs is this stupid back and forth. “Look, H, I wanna go to bed. That’s what I wanna do. What’s going on?” 

Harry scrubs a hand across his face. “Gemma got two scholarships.” He looks Louis in the eye. “Last night. She got the email and told us over dinner.” 

Louis sinks down before he’s even aware of it, next to Harry but keeping space between them. It’s weird, after everything that’s happened today. “Okay,” he says delicately. He hears Harry release a shaky breath. 

“And. I dunno. I was jealous?” He frowns and his eyes go glassy, making Louis’ heart pinch. “It’s not fair because I was fine before.” He breaks off and breathes in and out, his chest moving with it.

Louis bridges the gap, scooting over until their thighs press together. That must be what Harry needs, because he leans in automatically and his entire body seems to relax. “All this talk about colleges…I’m not used to wanting this much.” He turns to Louis, face open and laid bare. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you for helping out because it’s the best thing that’s happened to me. But between you and Gemma – I don’t want to fail.”

“You’re not going to,” Louis assures him immediately. He grabs Harry’s hand and squeezes. “And I’m not just saying that. I’m gonna help you.” He’s not sure if this counts as crossing a line right now; he kisses Harry gently under his eye. “If you still want, that is.”

Harry slips his fingers between Louis’ and tightens his grip. “Of course I want.” He stares down at their hands, sniffing inconspicuously. “I promise I’ll be better at letting you know what’s going on.”

“You don’t need - ”

“No, I want to. I swear.”

Louis works his bottom lip between his teeth. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughs softly, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. They stay outside until Harry starts shivering in spite of himself, and Louis leads him up quietly to the apartment. He runs a hot shower and lets Harry stand under the spray as he works soap across his back, massaging unspoken words into his skin. For the first time, the summer’s end seems too close.

\---

Louis has headphones in his ears, and he’s paying more attention to his drooping eyelids than the book propped up against his thighs. He’s hooked up to Harry’s phone listening to the Bee Gees, of all things, and he might have already fallen asleep four separate times if Harry hadn’t kicked at his ankle and asked how Tracey Emin’s memoir was coming along. Leave it to Harry Styles to have a fascination with British artists Louis’ never heard of.

He’s still airing out from their earlier dip in the creek, though they’re definitely dry now; two hours of lying on the bridge seems like sufficient time. But Harry’s only a couple feet away, lying down on his stomach with his feet twirling in the air as he consults between his phone and his notebook. Louis had made fun of him for owning a journal that looked like it could’ve been pilfered from his grandfather’s study, but it’s covered in enough doodles and random obscenities that, by now, it looks age-appropriate.

He still has it as his mission to draw a penis on it before going back to school. It’ll happen yet.

Their days off are increasingly becoming excuses to come here or blow each other in Louis’ apartment, alternating evenly between the bed and the shower. Louis can’t complain; it’s nice having a steady… _someone_ like Harry, only made better by the fact that they can see each other at work, too. That kind of overexposure might have dampened his interest if it were anyone else, but it’s almost as if this has been compensation for having spent so much of his life not knowing Harry – even after living in the same town.

There are no guarantees of what will happen between them once the summer ends. Louis will go back to Illinois and Harry will finish high school, that much they know. But nothing beyond that. They’ll talk about it one day, because Harry seems like the kind of person who will want to, and he’s makes Louis want to be that person, too.  

But today, in the speckled sunlight, is not that day.

“Finished!" 

Louis cranes his neck and looks over at Harry, who’s shutting his journal and giving himself a congratulatory round of applause. “What’ve you finished?” 

“My list.” Harry gets to his knees and sits back on his haunches. He turns to Louis, a devilish grin on his face. “I’d like my reward now, please.” 

“No.” Louis sets his book to the side and extends a hand. “Gimme. I wanna see.” 

Harry makes a grumping sort of noise and crawls over to Louis’ side. “Not yet. Kiss me first.”

Louis shoves down the fondness bubbling in his chest. “Fuck off, Styles. You promised you’d show me when you were done.” But the air punches out of his lungs when Harry flops down on his torso. Hard. “I can’t – _breathe_.”

“Okay.” Harry puckers his lips. “Kiss me." 

“No,” Louis growls. If his arms weren’t pinned to his side, he’d have pushed Harry off. But he’s drawing closer and Louis won’t give into his advances. So he sucks his lips into his mouth and tucks his face away resolutely to the side. On cue, Harry howls in laughter and drops his head against Louis’ jaw.

“You look like an asshole,” he giggles, hot breath tickling Louis’ skin.

Louis considers this and turns back to Harry. “Not literally, right?" 

Harry groans into his neck. “Why won’t you kiss me? My mom is going to think something is wrong with me.” 

“Something _is_ wrong with you if you’re bringing Anne into this situation.” Louis thwacks him on the back of his head. “Show me your list.”

Rather than respond, Harry peers up at him with poorly hidden hunger in his eyes. As much as Louis enjoys having this effect on someone, it’s intimidating to have it right in his face. And the scariest part is knowing, regardless of however easily Harry could manhandle him if he wanted, that _he’s_ the one in charge right now. Whatever happens next is Louis’ decision entirely.

“Harry,” he whispers, and Harry’s face goes glassy with it. “C’mon then.”

All thoughts of Harry’s list dissipate in Louis’ mind as Harry works his mouth open roughly with his tongue. It’s about the filthiest they’ve ever let things get here at the creek, which has always seemed like some sort of sacred zone separate from the rest of the world. Harry is protective of his favorite place, and getting kissed to death here while they’re both north of half-hard seems wrong. 

Then again, Harry had been dead set against discussing anything college-related at the creek, and now look. Some rules, Louis figures, are meant to be broken.

Harry pulls away first, eyes shut. “I need – um. Can we go to the truck?”

Louis blinks. “Sure.”

They get to their feet quickly, with Harry gathering his things and charging ahead of him. Louis trails behind, his mind still playing catch up. The truck is parked off to the side under the cover of some low-hanging trees. But when Louis makes to get into the passenger seat, Harry instructs him otherwise.

“Get into the truck bed.”

That sends a shiver through him, but Louis complies. He heaves himself into the back and the truck groans with his weight as he sinks down. He’d thought maybe they were going to head back to his place, but it only takes several seconds of fumbling in the backseat before Harry is there with him, folding his noodle limbs over the side of the truck. Louis’ breath stops midway when he notices the blankets in Harry’s arms, and he can’t help but laugh at the sheepishness on his face. 

“Oh my god.” Louis fits a palm on Harry’s face and swipes a thumb across his cheek. He glances down at the tiny bottle that rolls off the heaped blankets. “Harry…really? We haven’t even done it yet and you’ve got the whole nine.”

“I know.” Harry nuzzles into Louis’ hand. He’s flushed to his neck, but his voice comes out surprisingly steady. “D’you want…?” He ducks his head and huffs out a small laugh. “I thought it’d be more romantic this way.”

Louis takes a moment to center himself and fully appreciate the situation. He knows what Harry is asking of him right now. And maybe it’s because Harry is _asking_ , but it feels so important. He wants to give Harry all the affection that he deserves. 

“Are you sure?” He has to ask.

“If you want.” Harry shrugs, but his dimples have broken out. “I just want you.”

Louis grins, surrendering to Harry’s incredible earnestness. He inches closer so he can lean over their crossed legs. “Only you would think having sex in the back of your pickup truck is _romantic_.”

Harry snorts and curves his hands over Louis’ shoulders. “Hey, it got you here, didn’t it?”

“Whatever,” he whispers happily, kissing Harry once before letting him go. Harry moves quickly from there, shucking off his shirt and tossing it into a corner. Louis watches as he unfolds the blankets and lays them down. The truck creaks with their movement, and it’s lucky that they’re out here, away from the main road in their own little pocket of time.

“Come here,” Harry beckons as he falls on his back. “And take off your shirt.” Louis snorts but does as he’s told, throwing it off to the side and moving until he’s braced over Harry. He adjusts his legs, planting them on either side of Harry’s thighs and wincing as his knees dig into the truck bed.

“This is so cheesy and inconvenient,” he whines, ducking down and mouthing along Harry’s jaw. “What’s wrong with a normal bed?”

Harry runs a hand up Louis’ left side and tweaks a nipple in retribution. “Shut up and kiss me, Jesus.”

Louis scowls but follows through. Even in the back of a truck, he’s gotten used to the way their bodies fit like this. He kisses Harry, who, for all his height and looming presence in every other part of his life, makes himself smaller to accommodate Louis and fit under him. Harry can’t keep his hands in one place for too long, frantically touching as much of Louis’ body as he can. He’s squirmy at the best of times, but right now, with everything building to something so much bigger than they’re used to, he’s a fucking firecracker. 

As such, Louis makes quick work of removing the rest of their clothes, peeling away Harry’s underwear and denim cut-offs in one go and laughing when they end up on the other side of the truck. Harry feigns irritation, but Louis knows him better than that and it only takes a deft stroke of his hand until he’s quivering under Louis, begging for more. 

“So,” Louis muses, inching down with his kisses and reaching blindly to the side for the small bottle. “I guess I’m doing you, then.”

“Fuck yeah, you are.” Harry breaks into a smug smile, waggling his eyebrows like he’s not completely naked. Or maybe because he is. “It’s gonna be great.”

“Dunno what to do about that kind of pressure,” Louis murmurs, abandoning the bottle momentarily in favor of sucking a bruise into Harry’s side. Harry’s hips stutter in response and Louis smirks against his skin, already purpling from seconds of attention. Once he’s satisfied, he crawls back up Harry’s torso for a lingering kiss. 

“No pressure,” Harry tells him. “Not if it’s the truth.”

None of it sounds disingenuous coming out of Harry’s mouth, and it occurs to Louis right then that they trust each other. It’s one thing to be on Louis’ end of things – he wouldn’t trust just anybody to spend that much time around his sisters, after all – but it’s another thing entirely to see it in Harry, to see how readily he accepts Louis and how easily his legs spread open as Louis reaches further down his body. Harry’s not one to think things through halfway, and Louis can tell he wants this. Wants this with _him_.

The realization takes Louis’ breath away, and he covers for himself by grabbing the lube again. 

When Louis looks up, Harry’s watching him reverently. Squares of sunlight dance across his milky skin, and Louis has to touch him somehow, more than the way he needs to. Harry hums happily as Louis’ lips trail down his thighs to his hipbone, a hum that twists into a shuddering gasp when a slick finger pets at the tight furl of muscle between his legs. 

“Okay,” Harry laughs, running a hand through his mane of hair. “Okay, okay, okay.”

He smirks into Harry’s skin, kissing the blotchy area around his belly button as he sinks his finger into Harry slowly. The world has gone quiet around them, allowing for Harry’s shaky breaths to carry over into the leaves above. Louis takes his time with it, trying his best to ease Harry into the feeling before moving his knuckle around.

Harry whimpers softly as Louis works him open, whining only a little as a second finger slips inside. He’s biting down on his fist, hips wriggling in that stupidly hot way he gets when he’s overwhelmed. Louis preens, too happy to be doing this for Harry, and grins when his fingertips nudge against a spot that make Harry’s back arch off the blanket. 

Louis giggles through his arousal. “Fuck, this is too good.”

Harry pinches the closest body part – the back of Louis’ thigh – with his toes. “Shut the fuck up and do that again.”

So he does, again and again until Harry grabs his wrist and gives him a crooked smile. “That was – thanks.” 

“I’m not done yet,” Louis deadpans. 

“I know,” Harry purrs, petting at Louis’ hair. “Was raised to be polite, ‘s all.”

Louis snorts. “Don’t think this is what they have in mind at finishing school.”

“Damn it.” Harry shifts up along the truck bed as Louis pulls out and slicks himself up. “Gonna have to go back.”

“Let’s finish this first,” Louis says, winking and stretching over Harry until they’re face to face. Harry’s eyes are shining and his face is pink, and Louis can’t help himself when he licks a stripe up his cheek. “You’re tasty,” he decides.

Harry lets out a madman cackle and nudges Louis’ hips closer with his heels. “I’ll never be able to come back here without thinking of the time that Louis Tomlinson called me tasty.”

Louis shrugs, kissing Harry on the corner of his mouth and pushing in.

Harry breathes out lowly, his entire body trembling as Louis tests out a few shallow thrusts. He looks so perfect as he’s getting fucked, and Louis only presses closer to whisper that into his ear. It’s apparently the kind of praise that Harry’s been waiting for, because he flushes a deeper red and he moans out, uninterested in politeness now. 

“Wow,” Harry pants out, grinding down experimentally to meet the tilt and snap of Louis’ hips. Louis laughs without knowing why, trying to take it slow and stretch this out into something hopefully memorable. But they’re teenage boys, and his reckless movements match Harry’s eagerness beat for beat. 

“Gonna last longer than twenty seconds this time, Styles?”

Harry makes a rough _ha_ noise, before wrapping his legs tightly around Louis’ waist and driving him in deeper as punishment. Louis groans, shaky arms giving out, and he ducks his head into Harry’s shoulder to bite at the salty skin there. 

Louis gasps. “‘M gonna – you’re too - ”

The blankets have bunched up under Harry’s hips and Louis’ pace has gone erratic, sloppy in the way that he snaps in and out of Harry. They’re both sweating, can’t help it under the sun, and especially not when they’re fucking in the outdoors. The idea that someone might find them like this plays in Louis’ head and, suddenly, everything is funny – from the idea that they’re fucking in Harry’s shitty old truck to the fact that Harry actually hid blankets in the back seat with the hope of getting fucked as a reward for finishing his list of schools. He’s laughing when he comes, and Harry’s laughing with him.

Louis stays clear-headed enough to remember to get Harry off with him. It only takes a few strokes until Harry tenses up and lets loose over Louis’ fist, his fingers digging angry marks into Louis’ back. 

They stay like that, panting and messily stuck together until Harry giggles and pats at Louis’ side to get him off. Louis rolls away but can’t move too far in the truck bed. He reaches between them and seeks out the spaces between Harry’s fingers with his own. Even their palms are tacky, and they might need another swim in the creek before heading home. 

“Forty five seconds.” Harry turns to meet Louis’ gaze. “We’re getting better.”

He laughs in spite of himself and shakes his head. “Christ. We’re embarrassing.”

Harry presses a light kiss to his naked shoulder. “We’ll get better.” He traces the contours of Louis’ ribs with his free hand. “But for now, nap first.”

Louis feels younger than he has in ages, and it could be the post-sex haze talking, but he feels like floating. He squeezes Harry’s hand in his. “Nap first.”

\---

“Get out.” 

Louis fishmouths at his mother. But she’s uninterested, standing by the kitchen instead with a hand on her hip and the other pointing at the front door. She’s got a dishrag in her apron, and he has a sneaking suspicion that if he were standing close enough, she would have slapped him across the face with it already.

Through some mystical powers of deduction, Harry’s head is peeking through the galley window, as if he’d known that he was meant to be included in this conversation. Louis wants to tell him to shove his business elsewhere, but there’s a very good chance his mom would tell him to stay right where he was. 

It’s not fair. He’s dating Harry. His mom is supposed to hate him.

“But my tables - ” he tries.

“They’ll be fine,” Jay says impatiently. “One of the girls can cover for you.”

Louis frowns at the idea of Perrie or Jade taking his hard-earned tips. “Okay, but what about Lou? She’s just sitting there, doing _nothing -_ ” 

“Lou is planning her wedding,” she cuts in, gesturing over at the booth where Lou is sitting with a group of friends, heads bowed together over the final plans for that weekend’s ceremony and reception. “That’s none of your business.” 

“You’re kicking me out. In the middle of my shift!” 

Jay gives a saccharine smile and folds her arms. “Yes I am. You’re being miserable and I won’t have it under this roof.” She points a finger at Harry, who perks up like he hadn’t been listening this whole time. “You. Take him out. I don’t care where, just get him away from here.” 

Harry beams. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Louis watches in horror as Harry emerges from the kitchen – still in his apron – and accepts a twenty from his mom. He hasn’t even _done_ anything; he’d only been complaining about how unreasonably hot and crowded it had been all day. Next thing he knows, he’s being put out to pasture by the very woman who gave birth to him. It’s mutiny on the goddamn Bounty. 

He recoils as Harry slides next to him, slipping a hand around Louis’ waist. It’s a testament to Harry’s charm that Jay doesn’t so much as blink an eye as he gropes her son. 

“Et tu?” Louis hisses scathingly, but Harry ignores him.

“Thanks, Mrs. T. I’ll have him back before dinner.” For good measure, Harry adds a winning smile. Louis wants to throw up.

“Don’t bother,” she says, all but bulldozing them out the door. Then, after a rough kiss to Louis’ head, “Have fun, sweetheart!”

Louis pouts on the way out and doesn’t stop as he’s manhandled through the parking lot. He grumps in the passenger seat of Harry’s truck, pointedly refusing to sing along to the radio and keeping his eyes fixed directly at the stretch of road ahead. 

But his shit mood lasts about as far as the next streetlight, at which point he begins to appreciate the reality of an afternoon off. It’s a clear day with miles of blue sky above and hours of sunlight left ahead of them. Harry’s wearing aviators, the ones that make him look effortlessly cool the way no teenager should be able to pull off. But he does it, with his headscarves and too-long hair and knowing smirk. He’s got a hand loose on the steering wheel and the other on Louis’ knee, keeping him close. It’s a snapshot of the perfect summer day, and Louis commits it to memory. 

It’s only when they drive past the dirt road leading to the creek that Louis finally speaks.

“Where are we going?”

“Surprise,” Harry singsongs before pretending to zip his lips and toss the key.

As it turns out, Harry’s idea of surprising Louis runs in tandem with torturing him. They end up at the county fair, the annual celebratory orgy of midwestern tedium held twenty minutes outside of town in the middle of a fucking cornfield. It’s everything Louis hates about this part of the country consolidated into one penned-off area, from the putrid livestock and shoddy rides to the overpriced tokens and deep-fried food. 

Harry, of course, is in heaven.

“Lou, come _on_ ,” he whines, reaching behind him and latching onto Louis’ hand with a vice grip. The air smells vaguely of manure and fruit punch. “I wanna go through the corn maze first.”

There’s a part of Louis, loud and unrelenting, that wants to die from the sight of oily funnel cakes and the sound of children screaming all around him. But then there’s another part of him – the one that flutters when Harry snuffles in his sleep or vexes when he burns himself on the grill – that wants to give Harry everything he wants. It’s no question which part he’ll give in to.

Still, Louis Tomlinson has to maintain appearances. “Fine. Only if you buy me ice cream after.”

Harry must have expected to hear otherwise, because he yelps in excitement and hauls Louis into a rough embrace, peppering kisses on any exposed skin he can reach. Louis would fight back, but it’s kind of fun like this.

They walk in hand-in-hand with tickets that Harry buys for them, and it’s – well, it’s basically what Louis expected it would be. He’s never really understood the fascination and nostalgia that movies and tv shows seem to have for cornfields; they smell, they’re full of bugs, and they make him sneeze every couple seconds. He’d had his first kiss in a cornfield, late at night in the seventh grade with Penny Miller, and it had been scarier than it was romantic because it was dark and they’d both snuck out past their bedtimes. 

Some of that hasn’t really changed, namely the bugs or the sneezing. But the other stuff… maybe it’s from having grown older or maybe it’s because he’s here with Harry, but Louis can appreciate it more now. It’s nice, the way it’s cooler in here than it is outside, or how everything gets quieter the further inside they walk. Part of him wants to take a picture and post it online for everyone to see.

Harry might be thinking the same thing, judging from the way he can’t seem to stop smiling or looking around. For a boy born and raised here, it’s like he’s seeing everything for the first time. Louis is hopelessly endeared.

He lets Harry take the lead, giving him control over which direction to take every time they end up at a junction. It’s not an afternoon at the creek, but it’s reassuring to know that they can still be like this outside of their spot, wordless and aimless but still okay.

It’s how they work, Louis realizes. He’s always been one to fill gaps of silence with something more, distracting himself from the inevitable restlessness he feels whenever he’s home. But that’s never been a concern around Harry. And it’s kind of unbelievable that it took a skinny boy with the driest sense of humor to settle him, but at the same time, Louis doesn’t know if anything else would make sense.

There’s a light pressure on his hand, and Harry is looking at him with a curious smile. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Louis rubs a finger along one of Harry’s knuckles. “Thinking about you, I guess,” he says honestly.

Harry grins full on. “Something dirty?” 

“You’re a freak,” he groans, trying to pull his hand away but failing when Harry’s grip tightens. He tugs at a protruding corn leaf instead. “Just like… I dunno. Thinking about how this summer hasn’t been a total bust.” 

“Aww.” Harry pecks Louis’ temple. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Shut up,” Louis laughs, feeling a bit like an idiot. “I mean, like - ”

“No, I get it.” Harry smiles but his tone is firm, like he doesn’t need convincing. He moves closer, nudging his lips against Louis’ hairline. “I love you, you know.”

Louis inhales deeply. It’s late August; he’s got about two and a half weeks until he packs up his station wagon and drives back south. Realistically, two and a half weeks isn’t a fair length of time to be in love. But right now, the sun is out, Harry’s arms are around his waist, and the world hasn’t stopped spinning. That has to mean something.

He lifts a hand up, stretching it over Harry’s chest. Beneath Louis’ palm, Harry’s heart beats steadily. 

“Christ.” Louis huffs a quiet laugh; he feels so recklessly, impossibly young. “I love you too, I guess.”

“You guess?” Harry pulls away, staring down at him in amusement. It’s like the entire world has opened up across his face, and it says something about their relationship that he sees past Louis’ nonsense. “Yeah, okay, I’ll allow it.”

If Louis expected to feel any differently in the aftermath, he doesn’t – which probably says everything he needs to know. He feels the same toward Harry as he did only seconds ago, the same swell of brimming affection toward this string bean of a boy he’s been building up to for months. Even if he hadn’t said it… Harry would have known regardless, and that knowledge stabilizes Louis somehow. His heart lurches slightly.

“Okay,” he starts, blushing inexplicably. “Should we - ?”

Harry smacks a loud kiss to Louis’ mouth, effectively cutting him off, and it’s more romantic than it has any right to be. “We can do anything, but first, I’d really like to kiss you.”

Louis blinks into the sun. They can hear kids laughing and their parents yelling after them somewhere nearby, maybe just from around the corner. They’ve likely got more than half the maze left, meaning he has to wait that much longer until his ice cream. But. 

“Okay,” he whispers, rolling onto the balls of his feet and meeting Harry halfway.

\--- 

The day of Lou’s wedding is perfect, the first in ages that doesn’t have half the town wilting from intolerable heat. There’s a breeze in the air and whipped cream clouds in the sky, and though it’s early days yet, Fizzy swears fall is right around the corner. It’s not a sure thing, given Springwick’s unpredictable temperament. But deep down, Louis might just agree with her. 

Not that he’s allowed to indulge in such a beautiful day when he’s stuck inside, tasked with keeping Harry from ruining his outfit as he pulls the fourth and final pie out of the oven. Louis isn’t complaining necessarily, because Harry Styles in a suit – and with a handful of baked goods, at that – is incentive enough to never leave his kitchen again. But the house is alive with the sound of girls getting ready for a wedding, girls who don’t know how to use indoor voices while asking for lip gloss and hair clips. So it’s been a long morning, and while he doesn’t mind playing Harry’s sous-chef, he’d much rather move on. Preferably away from the house. 

Most of the chaos, however, seems to have quelled by the time Harry leaves the last tin to cool on a rack, and Louis can savor some temporary peace of mind. Harry’s got his attention focused on his pies, examining each of them for flakiness and crust-to-filling ratio. Or so Louis presumes. He’s only ever eaten the ones at Blue Flag, never participated in their actual creation; he doesn’t know how it works. 

“How’s it looking?”

“Good. They’re good, I think. Nothing like your mom’s - ”

“Damn straight,” Louis interjects proudly.

“But I learned from the best,” Harry finishes, all feigned weariness. He bites his lip, teeth worrying at the chapped skin nervously. “I hope they’re okay.”

“I’m sure they are. Hey,” he says, reaching out from where he’s perched on the counter and waiting for Harry to come over. “C’mere.”

Harry moves to toss his hair to the side, stopping halfway when he realizes that he’s just about ruined an entire hour’s worth of careful styling. It’s only a guess, but an hour sounds about right. “Damn it,” he huffs, slumping into outstretched arms and burying his face in Louis’ neck. “Help me.”

Louis lifts a hand to scratch at Harry’s nape consolingly. He snorts at the muffled hum of pleasure he gets in return. “Babe. You’re fine.”

“‘M hair’s messed up.”

“No it’s not. Look.” Without waiting for permission, he ruffles Harry’s hair until most of the springy bits are standing up on their own again. Harry looks absolutely mutinous when he leans back, not that his hair looks any different than usual, but Louis diffuses the tension with a sharp kiss to his nose. “You look fine. I swear, go into the bathroom and check for yourself.”

He pokes Louis in his side where he’s ticklish, but doesn’t move from between his legs. He readjusts his fringe and mhms, pleased. “It’s just. I love Lou and I love Tom and I don’t want to fuck up their big day.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “And you think your pies and hair are gonna be responsible for that?” 

Harry makes a strangled noise before shoving his face back into Louis’ neck. “ _Louuuu_.”

“Damn it, Styles.” Louis smoothes a hand down the length of Harry’s back, feeling along the bumps of his spine under the fabric of his dress shirt. “This is what you get for your stupid, big heart. You care too much, and you end up forgetting that there’ll be an entire wedding cake to distract from your crappy pies.”

“Crappy?” Harry peers up at him with doleful eyes.

“Christ, I’m kidding.” Louis taps a pinky between Harry’s eyebrows, certain that they’d make quite the embarrassing sight if anyone were to walk in on them right now. “Pull yourself together, man.” 

Harry whines, digging his chin into Louis’ sternum briefly. He straightens up and, without warning, drops in for a kiss. It’s short but sweet, leaving Louis with barely any time to reciprocate by the time Harry pulls away to brush their foreheads together. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

Louis swallows. “Of course.”

Barely a minute later, Daisy runs into the kitchen, storming through just long enough to let them know that it’s almost time to leave for the church. Harry glances over at the pies, worry still evident across his face, but Louis reassures him that they’ll have cooled down by the time the ceremony is finished and they drop by the house to pick up the remaining food for the reception. 

Which doesn’t exactly make sense to Louis, seeing as it’s going to be at the diner, where he’d just assumed all the food would be prepared. But then again, it’s not his wedding. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to have their reception at Blue Flag,” he says, hopping down. “Granted, I’m probably biased, but…” 

“I would.”

Louis pauses. “You would?” 

Harry shrugs, unhooking his suit jacket from where it had been hanging near the aprons. “Yeah. I love it there. Means a lot to me, I guess.”

He wants to press and ask more, which Harry probably expects. But they’ve got another minute at most before the herd comes tearing down the stairs, and Harry seems more concerned with poking at his hair and straightening his collar than indulging in one of Louis’ weird moments. He sighs.

“You look _fine_ , H. Even if you didn’t, Tom and Lou – the whole church wouldn’t care because they all love you, too.”

Harry’s hands hover over his buttons. He’s half smiling. “You mean it?”

Louis tilts his head and considers. He steps in front of Harry, pulling at his lapel and flattening his tie. And, with a tsk, he tucks a wayward hair behind Harry’s ear. There.

“Now I do.” He grins and keeps his hands light on Harry’s chest. “I’d hate to see what you’re going to be like on the day of _your_ wedding.”

There’s the sound of footsteps descending the staircase, and Harry moves toward the living room in anticipation. He throws Louis a wink over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll have to hold my hand through that, too.”

He freezes, letting that sink in. But then Lottie hurtles past him, clamoring on about Mom’s earrings and has he seen them by any chance? He thinks he says no, isn’t sure as his feet carry him to the front door. He finds Harry near the coat rack, twirling Phoebe under the pretense of complimenting her lovely dress, and settles. 

\---

Louis’ tie is off and his shirt is unbuttoned at his neck by the time Tom and Lou cut the wedding cake. He hadn’t worn a suit, opting instead for his best slacks and a pair of suspenders that might’ve belonged to his grandfather at one point. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he’s feeling pleasantly loose, having been allowed a finger – or several – of wine once they got to the diner. He hasn’t been to very many weddings, but this one is shaping up rather nicely.

Music is playing and several tables have been cleared from the center of the dining room in the name of a makeshift dance floor. The boys are there – Liam and Zayn have a booth in the back while Niall has Gemma Styles laughing near the food table – and though he hasn’t seen Harry in a while, it’s enough to know he’s somewhere near. He’s watching Nick Grimshaw from the deli try to dance with his mom anyway, and it’s more than entertaining. 

His eyes land somewhere behind the counter, where he sees Tom and Lou standing near the kitchen door. It’s a bit strange to see them so starkly apart from the rest of the party. But he’s got a hand on her belly – their baby – and they’re both smiling in a moment that’s all their own, and… the wine might have just done it’s job, but Louis feels warm inside. 

He’s kind of watching his sisters tease one of Tom’s nephews when someone slides into the chair behind him. He pops his last bacon-wrapped scallop in his mouth and leans back automatically. “Hi. Your pies were a hit.” 

Harry slips a hand around Louis to pat at his hip. “You’re being antisocial.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Louis doesn’t turn around, but he threads his fingers through Harry’s just because. “I’m people watching. Weddings are weird.” 

“Are they?” Harry rumble-laughs into Louis’ ear and he squirms involuntarily. “I like them.” 

“Me too. I’m just saying.” He tips his head back on Harry’s shoulder. “You meet someone and later, it’s an excuse for everyone else to drink and party. Because you fell in love.” 

Harry makes a thoughtful sound. “I think that sounds nice.” 

Louis doesn’t think he’s making much sense right now. But he needs Harry to understand what he’s saying, even if he can’t quite understand it himself yet. So he nuzzles his hair beneath his chin and hopes that’ll do for the time being.

“Nice,” he echoes. He points at the fairy lights strung along the ceiling. “Those are nice. Weddings are nice. People you love… this is nice.”

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like you like it here.”

Louis groans and sits up, but Harry anchors him there. “Will you dance with me? I want at least one with you tonight, and you might not make it to the end of the night.”

Fuck you, he thinks, but Harry’s laughing, so he might have said that out loud. Whatever. Louis can’t remember the last time he danced sober – or at least, mostly cognizant, and it’s the only thing running through his mind as they make their way to the dance floor and sidestep behind Perrie and one of Lou’s cousins. People are watching them, or maybe absolutely _no one_ is, but it’s enough to lock his limbs in place.

Fortunately, Harry’s got control of the situation. And even though the song that’s playing is fast with a banjo, Louis lets Harry take the lead, arms winding obligingly around his neck as warm hands find purchase at his hips. He breathes in deeply, mostly getting the smell of Harry’s cologne, but it’s comforting and enough to spur his feet into movement. 

He laughs through most of it. Both of them do, really, because for all his confidence, Harry’s not the best dancer. Louis isn’t in any place to complain, but he’s at least skilled enough to keep from stepping on anyone’s toes, a skill that Harry hasn’t quite mastered yet. But it lifts the pressure, and eventually Zayn and Liam join them and it’s a fun several minutes that has the rest of the diner clapping along and throwing change at them. 

Louis can’t breathe by the time it’s over, and Harry ends up hugging Jay for god knows why. It’s not their night, but it’s easy to think that it is.

Without thinking, he follows Harry out onto the porch, and he’s thankful when nobody makes a comment about it. Goosebumps are visible on his arms as soon as they hit the evening chill, and maybe Fizzy might be on to something about fall coming early. It’s nothing more than a passing thought, however, as Harry sits down on one of the benches and pulls Louis close by a suspender, tugging until they’re tucked close together with their legs halfway entangled. He’s not that cold, but it’s definitely an effective way of conserving body heat.

Harry doesn’t say anything immediately, but Louis can tell it’s not for lack of trying. He knows Harry well enough by now to know when his mind has just thrust into overdrive, and all he can do is massage his wrist and let him get there on his own.

“Lou and Tom,” Harry starts, eyes searching somewhere across the parking lot. “They’ve asked me to be Lux’s godfather.”

“Lux?” 

“That’s what they’re naming her.” He glances over at Louis with his eyes all lit up. “Little Lux. And I’m gonna be her godfather.” 

Louis stares back at Harry, trying to picture him running after Lou’s daughter and coming up with all sorts of distractions to keep her from sneaking into the kitchen. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine, and he can’t think of anyone better for Tom and Lou to have asked. He just – the reality of Lou actually becoming a mother hadn’t really registered with him. But she’s due next month, and even though he’s known this the whole time, it’s been convenient to forget that life will invariably move on even after he’s gone. Blue Flag will have a little Lux, and he’ll be hours away. 

It makes him… sadder than he thinks he should be. So he shakes himself out of it, hoping that Harry hasn’t noticed. He probably has, but now’s not the time. 

“You’ll be a great godfather,” he says, and he means it. 

Harry flushes, even in the dark, but there’s a pleased curl to his lips. “You have to say that because you love me,” he gets out bashfully, like he’ll lose his nerve if he says it any louder. 

“I do.” Louis rests a hand on top of Harry’s thigh and squeezes down; Harry holds it there with his own. “I do love you. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” 

Harry smiles into Louis’ cheek. “I’ll show her a picture of you every day. So she’ll know who you are when we babysit her over Christmas break.” 

Louis licks his lips. “Christmas break?” 

“Yup. You’re coming back for that, right?”

There are stars blown across the inky sky for as far as he can see, but Louis’ entire existence seems rooted to this one spot. Here, right next to Harry, he feels filled to the brim. Nowhere else even comes close.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry says, satisfied, like he’s just solved a crossword puzzle. “I won’t let her grow up without knowing who Louis Tomlinson is. Then, when you come back, you can fill her in for yourself.”

It’s a lot to process at once, the way that Harry seems to talk without deadlines. He’d done it earlier, when Louis had joked about his wedding day, and he’s doing it again, bringing Louis into far-off conversations like he’s an absolute. And as flattering as that is, and as tempting as it is to give himself up into those kinds of daydreams, Louis has both his feet firmly planted in reality. 

And reality dictates that neither of them can plan for what might happen in the next month, in the next year. They’re going to spend more time apart than not, and the way they are – this something they’ve built together – won’t be the same. Whatever ties might hold them together will only grow thinner and looser, and they’ll learn to be fine with it. They’ll be okay.

“I love you,” Harry whispers delicately, holding onto Louis like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. He probably does.

“Love you, too,” Louis replies instantly. Because they’ll be okay, but right now, they are, too.

\---

The sun casts an open net in the sky when Louis hits the road.

He’s said goodbye to this town twice before already, but somehow, it’s not the same this time around. Maybe it’s because his mom insisted on taking a picture of her baby as he got into his car, or because Zayn had given him a parting joint and a couple words about how he’ll be better at hanging out in the future. Or maybe it’s because Lou’s hormones had gotten the best of her and she hugged him the way she never did the first two times, promising to keep an eye on everybody in his absence.

It might all be in his mind, but he needs to figure it out for sure and – well, that’s where he’s going, isn’t he? 

Anne opens the front door when Louis knocks, and she looks genuinely surprised to see him. Gemma is standing a couple feet behind her, arms folded and wearing a sweatshirt that looks suspiciously like one he’s seen Niall wear before. But she winks and Louis grins back. 

“Hi, Louis,” Anne greets, pulling him into a hug without warning. “Back to school?” 

“Yup,” he says, straightening his shirt. It’s actually one of Harry’s, a ratty old band tee he’d stolen the other night, and he wonders if she can tell. “I start on Monday and thought I could use the weekend to move my stuff in.” 

“We’re taking Gem back tomorrow, too.” She points at the SUV parked in the driveway, already packed with bags and furniture in the backseat. When she looks back at Louis, she seems confused, eyebrows furrowed in a remarkable impression of her son. “Are you looking for Harry, darling?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

She frowns as Gemma snorts from behind and disappears up the stairs, waving bye as she goes. “He’s not here.”

“What?”

“Said something about meeting up with you.” She looks out at the lawn where the sprinklers have just turned on. It’s warmer today, but still not as bad as it had been most of the summer. “You’ll probably know more about that than I do.” 

He’s going to say that no, no he doesn't, when it dawns on him.

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and goes in for a second hug. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll find him.” Anne just laughs and says there’s no doubt he will.

He’s already an hour behind schedule when he gets to the dirt road, but he’s not particularly bothered. It’s a four hour drive, closer to five depending on traffic closer to the city, but he’s always enjoyed the longest chunk of the drive. The fields, the open expanses of land – it’s one of his favorite parts of the trip south. 

Louis sees Harry’s truck before he sees Harry, who’s sitting by the creek with his legs hanging off the bridge and his face upturned to the sky. When he sits down, Harry doesn’t start. He just slides his sunglasses up into his hair and turns to Louis, kissing him twice in quick succession before looking back up at the trees.

“So.” The word floats on the air around them. “We’ll see where things go?”

Louis clears his throat. It’s, more or less, what they decided on last night. Granted, Harry was less willing to actually talk about the finer details of their relationship, but Louis demanded having a conversation if he wanted to get fucked before heading home. Getting a reaction after that had been significantly easier, but it seemed more like an opening act for today’s discussion. 

“Yes,” he says. “We’ll see where it goes.” 

Though he doesn’t say it, Louis has a good sense of where it’ll go. It’s the same train of thought he’s had since Lou’s wedding. Up until this point, it’s been easy to forget everything outside of this bubble they’ve created together. But that bubble pops the moment Louis leaves this creek and gets on the highway. They’ll fall back into their respective routines, and it’ll get harder and harder each time they see one another again to recapture whatever it was they had.

Summer, in its haze and weightlessness, was the perfect time to have each other. 

“Stop that.” Harry’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He sounds solemn, but his expression reads mildly amused. 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop thinking,” Harry chuckles, leaning back on his hands. “You’re wrong.”

“You don't know what I’m thinking.”

But Harry just smirks with this knowing look in his eyes. It’s the same look he had all those weeks ago – at Niall’s barn party; those days when they hadn’t even kissed; the suspended length of time before Louis said he loved him back. It’s like he’s several paces ahead and listening to a song that Louis can’t hear yet, and it makes him feel the tiniest bit off-center. Not uncomfortable, just…not as sure-footed. Harry does that to him sometimes.

Harry covers Louis’ mouth with his own, lips buzzing as he presses their kiss deeper and brings a hand to cup the back of his neck. Louis slips into it easily, closing his eyes and vibrating from the inside out. If this is their last kiss for a while, it’s a good one. 

“Um.” He giggles softly into Louis’ mouth. “Before you leave. Could you look over my list one last time? One final Louis Tomlinson stamp of approval?”

Louis blinks. He’d given up on getting Harry’s list out of him; truthfully, he’d kind of forgotten about it. The last they’d ever talked about colleges, he just assumed he’d hear about it through a skype call later this semester. Or maybe he’d just find out the next time he came home, through his mom or something.

“Okay.” 

Harry smiles broadly at him. “You’re the best.” He grabs Louis’ hand and helps him to his feet. They head over to the truck, which already has a thin layer of leaves gathered on its roof. Louis wonders what this place will look like in October, or in December when the creek freezes over. 

Louis climbs onto the truck bed, grimacing at the sharp groan it makes under him. “You need to replace this piece of shit.” 

There’s a beat before Harry swings up next to him, having pulled something out from his glove compartment. “Soon enough. I’m saving up for a motorcycle.”

“What. No.”

Harry grins and makes a vrooming sound, suddenly all of three years old. Louis punches him lightly in the shoulder, enough to get his point across but still keep him close.

“I’m serious,” Harry says brightly.

“So am I.” Louis frowns. “For everyone’s sake, please don’t do that. They’re, like, not one hundred percent safe.”

“ _Aww_.” Harry cuddles close to him, dragging his nose from Louis’ ear down to his jaw. “You mean for your sake. You’re worried about me.”

“No shit.” Louis flicks him in the chin. “I’m worried about anyone who gets on those things voluntarily.”

Harry smacks a kiss to the corner of his eye. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles, trying not to feel too satisfied with that answer. Out of habit, he shuffles over until he’s practically in Harry’s lap. “What’s this about a list?”

“Oh. Right.” Harry slips him a folded piece of paper. “Take a look at this and let me know what you think.”

Louis rolls his eyes; Harry’s handwriting is shit at the best of times, but between the lines of chicken scratch and the bullet points that have been crossed out entirely, this is hardly navigable. Fortunately he can understand most of it, and he’s more than surprised to find that most of the schools are nowhere near Springwick. Some are in Los Angeles, others in New York, a handful in Boston –

He gulps, swallowing past the lump that’s found its way into his throat.

“Chicago?” Louis breathes in through his nose. “Chicago, Harry?”

But Harry just sets his chin on Louis’ shoulder and directs his attention to the top of the list. “ _Shhh_ , you’re skipping ahead to the middle. We’ve got to go in order.”

He doesn’t want to, would rather draw attention to the stars and special little marks next to the schools that he knows for a fact are less than an hour away from him; only a stone’s throw away from Evanston. But Harry’s muttering in his ear, something about the first one in Seattle, and he knows he won’t get a word in edgewise.

Louis feels kind of like he’s caught midair. Because they might not talking about it directly or out loud, but he knows what this list means - what it could mean.

And yes, he’s said his goodbyes to everyone already; he'd even done so with Harry last night so they wouldn’t really have to do it today. But this time, there's a tinge of something else. Like he's left behind bits and pieces each step of the way. There's a car ride between here and his life outside of Springwick, but he can't quite make the jump with the same eagerness to get the hell out as every other time before. It _feels_ different.

It isn’t a conscious decision to look at Harry, who’s pointing his way down the list with a crease between his eyebrows and reciting pros and cons from memory. If Louis were even halfway paying attention, he'd find it impressive. 

As it is, he thinks he knows, maybe, that it’s different for a reason.


End file.
